


walk the line

by Deadgonegirl



Category: Starbound (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Depression, F/F, Floran (Starbound), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Novakid (Starbound), Original Character(s), Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:02:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 49,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29552520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadgonegirl/pseuds/Deadgonegirl
Summary: Life works in mysterious ways. So does grief.This story follows the adventures of the last living Protectorate of Earth and the found family they make along the way.
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	1. i find myself alone when each day is through

-Somewhere on Walaim Precipice lll-

Leave it to bad string of months to bloom into an even worse late afternoon, Silas Louvel thinks to himself as he stares up at the barrel of a gun. He thinks he shouldn't be blamed too much, or even at all if he had refused to nurture this veritable garden of bad luck with any positivity or hope. Instead, he'd added foul thought after foul thought until the entirety of that rotten garden stank to high heaven and he was up to his proverbial knees in shit. Silas had never been naive, had never knew the world to be overly kind or overly cruel, but after this new venture of his on this damned desert oasis of a planet for thirteen weeks, he finds himself to be a new breed of cynic. 

With a tone that could only be forged by constant hunger, thirst, exhaustion and the sting of grief, Silas cuts his green eyes into slits and speaks to the unwanted guests he was receiving and on the receiving end of.

"I don't have a single pixel to my name," He hisses past cracked, bleeding lips. What he found to be almost as cruel as the circumstances that led him to being stranded on this planet was the fact that there was in fact plenty of water despite it being a desert, but its all salt water. Between the miles of sand and cactus were huge gaps of ocean, seemingly all the same ocean, just broken off into segments of land here and there. In the beginning, he had survived mostly off of the juices from cactus fruits or the water in the cactus themselves. It was a grueling process, one that led to stabbing himself a myriad of times on half foot long thorns. When he couldn't risk being out in the open due to the wildlife, he made due with filtering some of the salt water through a filter made of gravels, sand and clay. 

"In fact, I don't have anything to my name." Not anymore, at least, he thinks bitterly. Everything that had belonged to him, that had made him the man that he was for the past decade had sank down to the bottom of the ocean. 

One of the guns pointed at him jostles as its owner laughs. "Anyone with eyes can tell you're a nobody with nothing to offer." They say, and Silas can't tell a thing about them. Voice, stature- it gives nothing in the way of an identity. The bandit, along with their companion, is concealed from head to toe, with not even their eyes visible. A pair of sand filthied goggles sit over their eyes but even with them Silas knows theres a demented twinkle to their eyes, maybe even a smile, if the mirth in their voice is anything to read from.

"Now listen, we'll make this really simple; you can't bargain or beg your way out of this situation. You have nothing to offer and the fact of the matter is: we don't want anything."

The gun in his face suddenly cocks as the safety is flicked off. He gets the impression that the two of them are smiling at him again. 

Theres a sort of buzzing in his ears just than, like flies swarming a corpse, and Silas can't remember quite ever hating everything as he much as he does right than. The sun above burning his olive skin a leathery brown, the thirst, god the ever present thirst, the filth on his skin, the sand all over him, hell, even the arid air was deserving of his ire. What these assholes don't realize is that he had seen death coming miles away like a mirage in the distance, one that was sneaking closer and closer each time he went to sleep and each step it got closer he held his arms out to greet it like a friend. 

Silas wasn't scared of death and he sure as hell wasn't scared of two assholes with guns that looked like they were made from scrap metal and gum. 

"Yeah? Well I want something. I'll tell you what it is." He says, cocking his head to one side to get some of his long dark brown hair out of his eyes. "I want you two stupid fuckers to stop prattling in my ear and shoot me already. Do you think you can manage that between the two of you? Or do I have to ask nicely?"

The gun in his face doesn't go off and send a bullet between his eyes, instead, its raises a few inches in the air before it cuts through the air and slams into his temple. For a solid minute, all he sees is stars. He's had enough of those too, if he's honest. Warm, sticky blood runs down his temple and trickles down his face and into his wiry beard. 

"You don't have to ask to get killed, jackass, we were going to do that whether you wanted it or not. But we don't have to make it easy for you." One of them says and crouches down to slip a hand into his hair and yank. He watches them raise a hand and Silas is proud that he doesn't flinch at the movement- he doesn't want to feed into whatever sick glee they were getting out of this. That same hand moves up to the pair of goggles and he watches with boredom as they get tugged up and reveal a pair of dark brown, distinctly human looking eyes.

The first other human he's seen in months and its a poor excuse of one. 

Silas hollows his cheeks and spits right in those eyes and for the first time in a while he smiles and feels true satisfaction. "I wouldn't ask you to make it easy for me. But that doesn't mean I have to make it easy for you either." He tells them. 

He isn't at all surprised or offended when a fist slams into his nose with the force to send him flat on his back on the sand, which burns like coals against his half exposed back. It almost feels like he's being seared like a steak with the hot sand on his back and the boiling sun over him. When the two bandits stand above him, he doesn't speak and when one of them kicks their boot hard into his ribs, he manages to swallow down the grunt that begs to leave him. 

When he smiles, its all bloodied teeth. 

"Enough of this. We've got bastards with actual money to be robbing." One of them says to the other, and good, Silas agrees, he wants this over with just as much as they do. 

A sound like a ship's thrusters sounds off nearby, but it isn't loud enough nor does he care enough to take his eyes off the gun above him. He wants to see the exact moment the bullet flies out, wonders if human eyes can even catch that. But the sound, whatever it is, draws attention from the two bandits and he watches as they look all around for a source. Their mistake, it seems, was not looking up, and when a high velocity bullet cuts through the air and sinks into one of their skulls, Silas flinches back as their head explodes like a rotten melon and chunks of brain, flesh and splatters of blood spurt on him. Its with morbid fascination that he watches the now headless bandit fall to their knees before sinking into the sand. 

"Shit." He hears the other bandit hiss, and when he follows their line of sight, about forty or fifty feet above the two of them, he sees someone on a hoverboard. He can't make out their features from such a distance, but he notices the particularly nasty looking rifle held out in their hand. Silas isn't sure what he really expects to happen right than, but the bandit jumping towards him and picking him up by his torn, sorry excuse for a shirt wasn't it. 

He's dragged towards the shore where the sand recedes abruptly and a steep fall leads to endless ocean. When the figure in the sky begins to lower, he hears the bandit curse again, and Silas is suddenly thrusted in front of them. 

It occurs to him why he hasn't just been dumped in the water. 

"I'm not going to be your fucking meat shield you piece of shit." He growls and loops one of his skinny legs around theirs and knocks them off their feet. He shrugs out of their hold as they fall to the sand. 

He's got the bandit behind him and the ocean in front of him. Both mean death, as he's too weak to swim for long and there's loads of predatory fish twice his size in the dark depths. But if its a choice on how he would prefer to die, Silas thinks its an easy decision. 

It would be a fitting end to sink to the bottom of the ocean along with the rest of his life.

He shambles towards the ledge and readies himself for the dive. He doesn't need to jump, as the sudden bullet ripping through his shoulder startles him enough to simply fall off the ledge. Theres a solid two seconds of falling before his body slaps against the surface of the ocean. It stings with the force of a lightning bolt, and the shock of it makes him forget to take in a gulp of air before he sinks past the waves and starts to descend into the warm, salty water. 

It shouldn't matter, he supposes, as that one extra breath of air wouldn't save him from drowning. He doesn't want to be saved after all; he had chosen how he would finally die. Not from the abuse of a thug with a gun, not from starvation or heat stroke, but warm, dark waters. The salt burns his eyes so he keeps them shut despite his body's protest. He can feel the distance between him and land growing greater and greater with each second and his brain shouts at him to open his eyes to see what sort of heinous creature might be already on its way to find him, but no matter what he keeps his eyes closed. No matter how much he wants to die, Silas knows that when he truly runs out of air his body will start to do all it can to get him back on the surface, regardless of what he wants. Maybe he can override that, he thinks. Maybe if he thinks about what he's lost and what he could gain by reaching the bottom of the ocean, his brain will concede and let him have what he wants.

So he thinks of what he's lost. 

Its somehow more than what he remembers. Hurts more, even, if possible. In the throes of near death, Silas' memories become crystal clear. He can remember distinctly how Nemoy's black fur had felt between his fingers as he pet them, remembers the weight of them on his chest as he went to bed every night. Salt water encroaches his nostrils and burns worst than it does on his eyes, but even still he can smell Nadia's cooking. Can smell her perfume even, if he really thinks. Remembering these details somehow feels worse than dying. He thought it would comfort him but really it just makes him more miserable.

A great big gasp leaves him and that's when the back of his brain, the primal part of it starts to shout at him. He needs to swim up, to get air, to do something, anything other than just sit there weightlessly in the water and reminisce about things that were long gone and far beyond him. 

It has to be that damnable animal part of his brain that makes him react the way he does he feels something move next to him. On instinct, he clings for some sort of purchase. His hand touches something like fabric and its warm, impossibly so, even warmer than the sun baked ocean, and again the urge to cling to it smothers his senses. Actively fighting against his survival instincts, Silas starts thrashing against whatever it is that's trying to latch on to him just as much as he had been seconds ago.

All the movement uses what few dredges of air and energy he has left, and its with satisfaction that Silas feels salt water start to fill his lungs and his consciousness slip away. As everything fades to black, he feels content; wonders why he waited so long on this desert island planet instead of just throwing himself into the ocean the very first day of being stranded. Dying wasn't so bad. It hurt and felt uncomfortable, but after that? His brain slips away into sleep.

Void like the velvet of a night sky slips all around him and it all fades away.

\--

Salt water erupts from the bottom of his lungs, his stomach, everywhere it seems and lastly it sneaks up in the back of his throat for the force of a shaken soda and Silas jerks awake abruptly as his mouth is suddenly much too full. The salt water bursts from his lips and falls back down on his own face before he feels someone roll him onto his side so he can expel the rest of the water without drowning himself. 

The water doesn't stop no matter how much he coughs and gags and when it runs back up his nose it somehow stings just as badly as the first time. For a long, long time, all he does is expel water.

When his coughs finally come out dry and his sinuses and throat feel raw, Silas rests his forehead against the sand as he catches his bearings. He doesn't have the energy just yet to roll onto his back.  
His back gets patted firmly a few times, maybe to comfort him, maybe to make sure there wasn't any residual water. He feels the warmth of the hand on his back take root and spread. It settles in deep and soothes him. Makes him deliriously think of a cup of freshly brewed tea. He hasn't thought about hot beverages of any kind since being stranded but now, at least in this moment, he can remember how it had once comforted him.

Low and slow, as if spoken through a veil of molasses, is a drawling, languid voice speaking to him.

"You alright there, partner? That's a lot of sea water you coughed up. Not to mention the bullet that went through your shoulder." 

Silas doesn't have a clear enough mind to answer that and what ends up escaping him is a fight between a groan and a gurgle. Sand sticks to his lips and he spits a few times to get rid of it. It doesn't really do anything. Willing himself to move even an inch, Silas attempts to push himself up from the sand his face is half buried into but all he manages to accomplish is lifting himself a solid inch before his limbs give out and he face plants even deeper.

The hand on his back slides over to his good shoulder and lifts. He flops back over onto his back and spits out a mouthful of sand.

He hears a whistle.

"You look like hell and a half." Someone says to him. Its difficult to make them out with how blurry his vision is and how the sun is directly above him and making him squint. He can make out...a hat? Some sort of pink glow, but he thinks that's his brain conjuring up shit.

"Say, I know a doctor. Why don't I take you to her? She's on my ship." 

Silas's eyes snap open as much as they can and he flinches away from the warm hand, now wanting to get as far away from it as he can.

"Woah, easy there- I promise you'd be in good hands." The voice assures him.

It takes a few attempts and even more coughs than that, but Silas does manage to get his vocal cords working. "I can't leave." Comes out of him like dust from a sarcophagus. His voice is foreign to him, sounding more like some old geezer that was a thousand years old instead of the even twenty eight he was.

"Sure you can." They scoff. "All I have to do is beam us up."

"I'm not leaving." Silas repeats, this time full of ire. Pissing off the bandits hadn't fulfilled his wish of a quick death, but maybe pissing off this stranger would lead to them leaving and letting him die from exposure and blood loss. Silas waits for a sigh or a curse, followed by footsteps that grew quieter and quieter as they retreated, but all he hears is an impressive sigh.

"Stubborn bastard." He hears the stranger chastise, but there's an air of amusement to it, which confuses him as much as it pisses him off. "Fine. You don't want to leave. So what in the devil am I supposed to do with your sorry hide? Leave you to rot under this blasted heat?"

"Yes." That's exactly what he wants. Silas is grateful they seem to understand.

The hum he hears sounds like its acquiescing, but he quickly learns it isn't at all. "I think I'll do exactly the opposite. How's that sound, partner?" 

Silas feels his stomach drop. "What-" 

Two arms heft him off the sand and before he knows what the hell is happening, he's being unceremoniously slung over their shoulder like a sack of flour. When his chest hits their back it aggravates the gunshot in his shoulder and he is blinded by the pain for several seconds before he can breathe normally again. 

"Put me down you fucking asshole." He uses his good arm to slam the heel of it against their back.

"Nah." Is all he's awarded, the casualty of which inciting an overwhelming amount of anger. Silas thrashes and kicks and curses until his hoarse throat feels as if shards of glass have been laced in his esophagus. No matter how much he struggles the hold on him doesn't budge an inch- neither does the stranger's will to help him, as unwanted as it is. Silas isn't really sure what takes over him, whether its the frustration of no one listening to him, the exhaustion of being almost drowned, shot, and stranded, or the deep rooted indignity he feels upon being picked up and kidnapped, but for whatever reason and no matter how badly it hurts, he keeps on struggling and shouting and acts as unsavory as he can in hopes the stranger just drops him and leaves. At some point, his body gives up and he passes out.

\--

The next time Silas awakes, it isn't to the sudden jolt of his body ridding itself of water. Instead, he awakes peacefully, his eyes opening slowly and his breathing labored, but even. He hears humming, of the kind that is steady and rich. 

Looking up, he sees the ceiling of a green tent. When he looks next to him he finds he's the only one occupying the tent. Sitting up a little, the blanket that's been tossed over him slips down and pools around his hips. His shirt is gone and when he reaches up to touch his wounded shoulder he finds its been bandaged. Panicking, Silas looks towards the closed flaps of the tent and sees a warm, ambient light of a campfire just outside of it. 

He slips off the blanket and crawls towards the entrance before slipping a hand past the flap and pulling it aside. 

It with great relief that he finds that he's still on Walaim, as there's no mistaking the sand, rainbow wood palms, and the cactus. What does unnerve him is the fact that his savior is seated nearby.  
Sitting in front of a campfire is a Novakid, one thats as absurdly tall as they are absurdly pink. Most of their form is covered up heavily in western garb, which consists of a crisp, red long sleeved shirt which is rolled up at the elbows and the hem is tucked neatly into dark leather pants and held into place with suspenders. A soggy looking jacket sits discarded to the left of them. A brown wide brimmed cowboy hat sits on top of their head and looks more in place with their get up than the sun does in the sky. There's a few spikes of 'hair', or at least the shape of it that sticks out from the hat in the front like bangs, while the rest of it peeks out in the back in a bundle of disorganized spikes.

There's, of course, a distinct lack of features such as eyes or a mouth and as is the custom of Novakids, is instead a brand that takes up most of the surface of their face, the shape of which is a heart. The Novakid is leaning against a log, one of their long legs bent and seated on the sand while the other is crossed over on top of it, their booted foot tapping in the air to the song they'd been humming. Noticing that he was awake, the Novakid turns towards him while they're midway to bringing up a flask to their face to take a sip.

"Sleep well?" They ask, their voice just as rich and heady as before. There's also a noticeable reverb that echoes it.

Truthfully, Silas isn't sure how to answer that question, given he was still pissed about being mandhandled and taken somwhere against his will. He merely stays on his knees, still half in the tent, and stares at them with sharp eyes.

The Novakid sighs and shakes their head before taking a sip from their flask. "I have never met such a stubborn ass in all my life." They remark afterwards. Tucking the flask into the warm sand, Silas watches as the Novakid drags a backpack close and starts to dig through it. They pull out a skillet and something wrapped in parchment.

With a palpitatable amount of haughtiness, the Novakid plops the skillet onto the fire and unwraps the parchment. Silas sees a few small potatoes, mushrooms, and some other veggies, along with a vial of oil which all gets dumped into the skillet.

"Well," The Novakid starts again. "If you aren't in the mood to flap your gums, the least you could do is drink some water and have a bit to eat. I'm sure all that hollering earlier did a number on your throat."

He feels his entire face flush as anger rises in him. He glares as hard as he can, hoping at least a tenth of his animosity is reflected. Its of course at the moment, right before he can utter a word, that his stomach decides to gurgle as noisily as it possibly can.

The Novakid pauses their messing with the skillet to turn towards him with what can only be an air of incredulity. There is a precise few seconds of awkward silence before the Novakid bursts out into raucous laughter.

Silas contemplates whether or not just than if it was worth it to try and dunk his head in the fire in the hopes it kills him.

Thankfully, the Novakid doesn't utter a single syllable to make fun of him, but whether or not that was out of kindness or the fact they couldn't stop laughing enough to do so, was up in the air. They do at least manage to contain their laughter eventually, and its than that they reach into the backpack again and rummage around briefly before holding out a canteen of water.

"Here," They offer. 

When Silas doesn't immediately slip out of the tent to close the distance to accept the canteen, they huff the most annoyed sigh he's ever heard. "Would you just take the damn thing?"

With rigid suspicion, Silas slips the rest of the way out of the tent and takes a seat about a foot away from it. Conceding for now he accepts the canteen and takes off the top before taking a sip. The water is warm which is to be expected given the metal container it was in and the heat of Walaim but he finds that he really doesn't give a shit at all. The warmth of the water makes it easy to drink and soothes the rawness of his throat. He ends up drinking the entirety of it and and feels acute shame well up inside him like plumes of smoke and Silas chokes on the realization that he had left nothing for the man across from him.

When he turns to look at them to see if they were annoyed, he finds the Novakid isn't looking at all, as they were too busy cooking. Silas doesn't know what to do with the empty canteen, which now feels like contraband and burns red hot between his hands, so he simply keeps it there and says not a word. He watches the Novakid flip around the frying food with a knife, and while there isn't a face or expression to be read, he thinks they look bored. 

It doesn't take long at all for the food to be done cooking and to his surprise the Novakid takes the skillet off the fire when its done and sets the entirety of it carefully on the sand in front of him. They offer a singular metal fork, which Silas doesn't accept, so they stab it into one of the potatoes before going back to their spot and resuming the position they had before. 

"I already drank all your water." He tells them. 

"Do I look like I give a goddamn?"

As the Novakid crosses one leg over the other, they pull out a thing of cigarettes along with a box of matches and use their stomach as a table as they get themselves ready to smoke. There isn't a mouth to slip the cigarette in, but SIlas sees that the cigarette does in fact slip past something and stays there, half mast as the Novakid pulls out a match, which they strike with flourish against the bottom of their boot. 

They take a deep drag before exhaling a cloud of smoke. It smells sweet, like clove. 

The Novakid points that cigarette at him. "If you don't start eating by the time I finish this cigarette I'll force feed you myself." They warn and Silas' hackles rise. 

Much to his displeasure, when the Novakid brings the cigarette back to their face and inhales, they inhale so deeply that the cigarette is reduced to ash in one pull. They flick the filter off into the bushes and start moving to get up. 

Silas hasn't forgotten how easy it'd been for them to throw him over their shoulder. With threadbare reluctance, he picks up the fork and eats.

The Novakid settles back into their seat. "Smart move, partner."

It grows quiet after that, uncomfortably so, but at least the crackling of the campfire brings some sort of ambience. It isn't until he's taken a dozen bites that the Novakid speaks again.  
"Whats your name?" They ask.

"Silas Louvel." He answers when he's managed to swallow the big bite he'd just shoveled in. "And yours?" He asks mostly because he's sure he'll be told anyways, whether or not he likes it.

"Maverick." The Novakid pulls out another cigarette and lights it. "Now that we got that out of the way, Silas," And the way the smoke curls around his name and clutches it makes Silas' gut knot uneasily.

"You going to tell me why you keep refusing to see a doctor?" Maverick asks. 

"Call it a whim."

Maverick shakes their head at that. Takes another drag. "Wouldn't call it that. Seems more like a death wish."

His grip on the fork trembles and its with gritted teeth Silas gives an answer. "What do you care what it is?"

The next time Maverick exhales, they point their face to the sky and keep it pointed that way, either suddenly wanting to star gaze or in need of something grounding as to not lose their patience. 

"Look, you've obviously had a rough time. I ain't asking you to tell me your life story, but as the person who pulled your sorry ass out of that water, I'd like to know why you're spitting all my hard work back in my face."

Completely losing interest in eating, Silas tosses the fork into the skillet and scoots it away from himself. "I didn't ask you to. What part of that do you not get?"

"All of it." And Maverick rips their gaze from the stars to look at him. "I saw how you were egging those criminals on. You're a regular spitfire if I ever did see one. Not an ounce in fear in you." Its said with pride, almost. 

"I'm not scared of dying." He returns with bite.

Maverick watches him for a moment, quiet, before turning away to look at the fire. "No," They agree evenly. "I suppose not. Its living that scares the shit out of you." 

Silas tenses at that. "Just because I don't want to live doesn't mean I'm scared to."

"Sure it doesn't." They hum.

The urge to punch that hat off their head arises several times in a short amount of time. "Why did you even come here in the first place?" He asks instead of doing exactly that.

"Those fools harassing you? They had bounties on their heads. I came to collect- at the perfect time it seems." Maverick explains. 

Ignoring that last part, Silas continues. "So you're a bounty hunter?"

"Yep. It pays well and I get to shoot mean bastards for fun. Can't complain." Maverick points at the skillet. "Eat as much as you want. I'm not hungry."

He sincerely doubts that, but given every time he protests it gets shot down or ignored, Silas brings the skillet back over and picks at the remainder of the food.

"You mad at me because I was going to take you to a doctor or are you mad because I pulled you out of the water?"

"Both." He says truthfully and for ultimately the same reason. He hadn't wanted to live another day, still doesn't, but deep down, he can't really blame someone for not going along with his plans. 

"That's fine." Maverick tells him and gets up from their seat and flicks the second filter into the bushes with the first. They walk over carefully as to not kick up sand and take a seat next to him.  
A gloved hand is set on his good shoulder. "I can deal with you being mad. I can deal with you hating me too. But knowing how all this would play out, I'm pretty damn sure I'd still do everything the exact same. But, if it makes you feel any better or brings you some kind of release to all that anger in you, you can hit me. As much as you like, as hard as you need it." 

As to prove their sincerity, Maverick leans their face in close and taps it with their hand teasingly. 

"Go on, lay it on me."

Silas stares at them with severe irritation. "Fuck off, I'm not going to hit you."

Maverick scoffs. "Why not? You had no problem kicking and punching me earlier. Can't be too mad at me than."

He takes a deep, deep breath. "You were treating me like luggage and attempting to kidnap me." 

"I was trying to take you to a doctor."

"And I said I didn't want to see one." Silas barks loudly, and he shoves them away. Maverick hadn't expected the outburst and falls flat on his back on the sand.

He hears them start to chuckle and it only makes him madder. 

"Fuck off." He tells them.

Maverick heaves themselves up and dusts the sand off their clothes. "Nah, not until I figure out what I'm going to do with you." 

"Why don't you do what I ask? What I've been asking." He points out.

"All you ask is bullshit. The second you ask for something reasonable, I'll do it." 

That awful buzzing is present again in his ears. Silas tosses the skillet away for the second time and struggles to his feet. He walks over to where Maverick is still sitting and it feels good to be above someone for the first time that day. 

"Why do anything for me? You don't know me. All I've done is curse you and fight everything you'd done. I'm not pleasant to be around, so what about me is making you insist on helping me?" He demands hotly.

Maverick takes off their hat only for the amount of time it takes them to get rid of the sand thats made a home in the brim. 

"Maybe you being such an ornery fuck is what I find so damn charming." They return petulantly before beginning to stand to their feet. When their back is straightened, Silas sees that the Novakid is definitely over six feet tall.

"I'll let you in on a little secret, partner." And Maverick leans down close enough that Silas' face is bathed in pink. "I don't do anything I don't want to. Never have. Never will. And if you need a reason why I'm doing all this to soothe your nerves, consider the fact that maybe I'm bored."

Silas frowns and feels some of the swell of his anger recede. "That doesn't soothe me at all."

"Tough shit." Maverick snorts. "Now, am I going to have to kidnap you for real or are you going to let me take you to a doctor?"

Silas squares his shoulders as much as he can and digs his feet into the sand. "I'm not letting you do that." He warns. Its all he can really do anyways, since he's weak for a myriad of reasons. That doesn't stop him from at least putting up the pretense of a fight.

"I shouldn't have even bothered asking." Maverick nearly growls, and when they reach out with both arms Silas flinches away. 

He knows that as soon as they get a hold on him, all they had to do beam the two of them up to their ship and than he'd be gone, and-

"I can't! Didn't you hear me?" Silas shouts and its definitely the desperation in his voice that stops Maverick in their tracks rather than his volume.

"Why?" They ask with no short amount of annoyance.

Silas tears his eyes away from the Novakid to look out towards the ocean. Feels a pull towards it that rivals gravity. "Because," He starts, and stops just as quickly. His throat tightens like a vice and he feels the corners of his eyes brim with angry tears. "Because I can't leave them."

Maverick stares at him like he's grown a second head. "Who's them?" 

"My crew." Silas answers waveringly through a cloud of grief. Tears stream down his filthy face and he feels his whole body shake with the feeling that comes just by thinking about them. Its a pain he fears will never dull. 

"My family." He corrects after a second. "Our ship was attacked while it was in orbit. I was down planet researching when it happened." His hands clench into fists at his side. 

"I got a call from one of them when it happened. Heard how panicked everyone was. Heard them cry out when the ship, our home, started to fall apart around them. I heard it all but there was nothing I could do other than to watch and to listen as everything went to shit and now they're all dead and at the bottom of the sea and I'm still here."  
He slips his palms over his face in a poor attempt at concealing the ugly crying that was erupting from him, loud enough that it even upsets his own hears, but he cannot stop, no matter how much he wants to the tears don't stop. 

Behind the partition of his fingers, Silas has the bravery to speak once more. "I couldn't be there with them during it all that and now I can't even give them a proper goodbye. I can't leave them like that."

Its quiet for such a long time between the two of them aside from his own sobbing that its unbearable in several different ways, but all of which make him feel less than nothing and twice as undeserving to even be standing to tell his miserable tale to someone else, let alone a complete stranger. 

Silas hears the sand near him move. Feels something slip over the crown of his head. When he slides his hands off his face he sees that Maverick has settled their still slightly damp hat onto his head. It should make him feel childish, should make him accuse Maverick of being patronizing, but it does in fact comfort him, as much as anything really could in that moment. 

A hand settles on his shoulder and stays there.

"...Do you know where your ship crashed?" He hears Maverick ask. 

The question alone is enough to startle him into stopping his cries. He turns towards them and blinks. 

"Yeah. Why?" 

Silence. Of all the times Silas had wanted an answer, now he gets this. 

"Why?" He repeats, demands actually.

Maverick looks less cock sure without their hat on, but the way they shift their weight from one leg to another doesn't help either.

"I could give them a proper burial." They offer quietly, like they aren't sure that's the right thing to say just than. Probably expects anger of some kind, as that's all Silas has offered to them thus far.

"How would you do that?" He makes sure his voice isn't accusing. He genuinely wants to know how such a thing could be possible. "The ship sank to the bottom of the ocean. The pressure-"

"Won't kill me." Maverick interrupts. "Folks like me don't have to worry about that kind of stuff. Besides, I got some equipment that'll keep me from drowning. That's about all I need, other than time, I suppose."

Silas gnaws at their words voraciously before he next speaks. 

"Okay," He says, thinking. "Say you can reach the ship despite the pressure and possibly drowning and all of the predatory fish." 

It sounds ludicrous to even be considering any of this. "What about the bodies...?" He regrets mentioning that as soon as it slips from him and the imagery it conjures in his mind, the image of his deceased family and what they might now look like after being in the water for so long. He breaks out into a cold sweat and feels some of the food from earlier threaten to come up.

The hand on his shoulder tightens. "Don't worry about it." Maverick says sternly. "I'll bring them up and bury them. Don't think about them like that, alright? Its not what they'd want."

Shakily, he nods.

"I just need to grab a few things from my ship before we move to where you said the ship is. I will be coming back. And here, just in case anything happens in the short time I'm gone." Maverick walks over to their backpack and pulls out a pistol. When they walk back over Silas finds the pistol is placed carefully into his hand. 

Theres a significant weight to it.

"Do not make me regret giving this to you. Alright?" Maverick asks him with eerie seriousness. It isn't lost on him what the concern might be.

Silas nods.

"Good. I'll be back in a flash."

\--

As promised, a few minutes later Maverick beams back down to Walaim, their arrival scattering some sand around the camp. Silas looks up to them from the log he's sitting on.

"I need to pack all of this stuff up first. Than we'll ride on my hoverboard and you'll show me where the ship lies. I'll set up camp again and take care of everything while you wait. And you will wait until I give you the all clear."

Again, all Silas feels he can do is nod.

Maverick breaks down camp with practiced ease and of course brushes off any attempt at help Silas offers them. With the camp fire extinguished and everything put away, Maverick pulls out a small device that brings out their red hoverboard. With their rifle strapped to their back, as well as their backpack, Silas watches them kick the hoverboard to life and step onto it. They hover about a foot over the sand.  
Maverick holds one arm open invitingly. 

Quietly, Silas walks over and steps onto the hoverboard. He slips an arm around Maverick's waist and when the hoverboard starts to lift further off the sand he clings even tighter. All of Maverick's clothes are damp and probably even ruined since the majority of it is leather aside from their shirt and scarf. He doesn't think salt water does leather any favors. 

Aside from the dampness, Silas can't help but notice there's a certain smell that wafts off them aside from sea water. Its something like ozone, leather, and sandalwood. 

"Hold on tight- this thing isn't built for two." Maverick warns him with a chuckle before rising quickly into the air. "Oh, wait." They pause in their ascent to tighten the strings of the hat on Silas' head, which he himself had forgotten was there. 

"There. Now the wind won't blow it clean off your head." They say. Silas wonders why they don't just take it back and settle it onto their own head, but doesn't come to a conclusion before the two of them fly off and he feels his heart jump into his throat.

\--

The ride across Walaim makes him weak in the knees, but ultimately it goes by smoothly. Maverick rides the hoverboard with the same ease as they had handled their rifle; as if both were an extension of them, rather than a tool to be used. It had hurt to see the familiar cove near where his ship had crashed, but Silas shoves the pain down somewhere deep and points it out to the Novakid.  
He feels them nod and slowly the two of them start to descend back onto the sand. Maverick quickly puts away the hoverboard and leads the way to the cove, their rifle drawn and ready. There aren't any hostile creatures nearby, and when the two of them enter the cove, they find it relatively empty aside from some lizards and other small organisms.

"Alright. I'll set up camp for you since I'll be gone for a few hours." Maverick explains and just like before they busy themselves with setting up camp and refuse to let Silas help.

The cove is decently sized with enough space to fit Maverick's tent and a campfire. Once the fire is lit, Maverick straightens and gives a big stretch. 

"I need to decide what I'm going to bring with me that won't be completely useless in salt water." Maverick tells him before they take a seat on the sand in front of the fire and start digging through their things. 

"And I was thinking," They continue. "I could set up a few traps at the entrance, that way you can sleep and no unsavory creatures will bother you while I'm gone."

Silas takes a seat on the other side of the fire. He hadn't forgotten why the two of them were here, but now that Maverick is speaking about it aloud again his stomach can't help but twist naseously. His anxiety must show on his face because Maverick pauses wiping down a sword almost as tall as himself to crook their head to the side curiously.

"Alright, there?" 

He nods somberly. 

"You worried about me?" Maverick asks sickeningly sweet and its so fucking petulant that it momentarily makes Silas forget about anything other than the annoyance that suddenly blooms within him.  
"Absolutely fucking not." He returns hotly and Maverick laughs. 

But the thing is, despite barely knowing Maverick and liking him possibly even less, Silas can acknowledge that what they're doing for him is neither easy nor safe. It was very possible Maverick could end up stuck or hurt in some way that prevented them from ever reaching the surface of the ocean again. The thought of someone else dying in this particular spot, along with the fact it would no doubt be his fault, fills Silas with a sort of dread that's all consuming. 

\--

"Alright, I'm off. Keep yourself scarce and try to get some sleep. If you hear one of the traps go off and it doesn't somehow kill whatever snagged it, you go ahead and fill it with lead." Maverick says while hefting up a breathing EPP onto their shoulders. They hand the same pistol they had offered before to him.

They clap him on his good shoulder and turn on heel, mindful that the traps they had set could very well blow off their own legs instead of some poor creatures. 

"Wait." Silas says before he can think. 

Maverick stills and looks over their shoulder to him.

He feels sweaty and stupid all of a sudden. More than usual. "Just be careful. Okay?" He says.

To his surprise, Maverick doesn't mock him or make some joke. Without a word, they nod, and its only until Silas breaks eye contact with them that they continue walking out of the cove.

\--

The sun was already setting when Silas had woken up in the last camp Maverick had set up and by now it was fully night. The two moons of Walaim greet him like a pair of eyes as they settle just above the horizon and reflect against the dark ocean. 

He'd been told to get some sleep, but despite an hour passing he finds that he isn't tired at all. Silas' mind is busy as he lays against the sand and stares up at the ceiling of the cove.  
Its been three months since he's been stranded on this planet. Not a single day had been easy or kind to him and it shows, evident by how underweight he was now; the muscle that he had once been proud to have even a hint of now long gone. When he lifts up the hand not attached to his injured shoulder and inspects the top of it, he cringes at how leathery and dark his once olive skin had become. There's almost as many freckles as there are hairs on his arm.

He's never been fond of beards, and Silas is sure that the one he's currently sporting ages him terribly just as much as his skin does. His hair has always been on the long side, but its poor condition now from all the salt water, arid air, and lack of maintenance. It looks more black than it does brown. Silas knows all this because he's seen his reflection in the ocean, but really, he doesn't ever look for too long. 

The feeling of seeing himself, but not recognizing the man he's become had startled something deep within him.

When he thinks of how he used to be it of course comes with the cost of thinking of how everything used to be. His schedule had been simple before all this; wake up at the crack of dawn to clean himself up, feed the ships cat, Nemoy, although it was pretty much his cat, and then grab a coffee from the kitchen. Bullshit with the few others that woke up as early as he did before heading off to the common room to hog a few tables and get some work done. Work being translating massive texts and studying relics from the past. Silas hadn't liked working in his room as if made it too easy to be lazy. 

He can admit that having others around was another reason.

Letting his eyes close, Silas thinks about the past for what feels like the millionth time. Memories replay in his head like a movie he can't bare to get up from his seat from. After all, these memories are all he has left. There's a part of his brain that grows and grows each day, desperate, and it convinces him that if he only thinks hard enough, if he recalls the memories with exact detail, that the next time he opens his eyes he'll find himself back where he belongs.

Its delusional, he's well aware. Nothing more than the desperate thoughts of a man grieving; a man with nothing to him than his name and memories. And yet it doesn't stop him from trying. 

Stubborn asshole, he chastises himself.

\--

Half asleep, Silas startles when he hears movement in the sand by the entrance of the cove. He instinctively grabs for the pistol despite none of the traps going off.

"Just me." He hears before he even sees them  
.  
Sitting up he sees that it is in fact just Maverick at the entrance. They're in the middle of disarming all of the traps. Maverick is completely soaked and their movements seem both sluggish and uncomfortable.  
When the last trap is disarmed, he hears them sigh as they walk over to him.

"Are you alright?" He asks. There aren't any wounds or blood on them, but he figures asking won't hurt.

"A little tired. Nothing to worry about." Maverick shrugs. "I took longer than expected because there were some things worth salvaging. I took all I could back with me."

Silas stills. Feels his heart clench and his breathing hitch. 

It hadn't occurred to him that anything would be salvageable. He forces himself to stand up and walks over to them.

"You didn't have to do that." He says weakly. Asking to retrieve whatever was left of his family was already daunting enough, but this?

He gets dismissed with the wave of one hand and a scoff. "Course I didn't. But, well, I figured why not? A few extra trips wouldn't break my back. And," They pause.  
Silas quirks a brow. "And?"

Maverick squares his shoulders like there's a fight to be had. "And I don't know whats in those crates I pulled up, but I know you deserve to have something to remember your family by. Something tangible."

Silas averts his eyes from them and stares into the fire. Feels overwhelmed in a way he can't quite explain to himself. 

"I can't thank you enough." He admits with sobering amounts of misery. He isn't just talking about the crates, he hopes they know.

"You haven't thanked me at all." Maverick points out with a huff of a laugh, and while it doesn't sound accusing or vindictive, Silas does flush with shame and stays quiet.

He hears Maverick curse under their breath. "I didn't mean anything by that. But listen, if it makes you feel any better, you can thank me by letting me take you to see a damn doctor already. She can patch you up, put some meat on your bones and when you're back on your feet you can either stick around with us or tell me where you want to be dropped off."

Silas looks up slowly to offer a dubious look. "I can thank you...by letting you do even more things for me?" 

"Yep."  
He scowls. "That makes no fucking sense and you know it."

Something about Maverick's demeanor changes just than. Their back straightens and the vibrant pink of their form ruddies a few shades darker than it has been thus far. Maverick closes what small distance there is between the two of them and doesn't stop until they're toe to toe.

"Don't tell me what I know." They warn, but there's no hostility to it, just firmness. "If I say I want you with us, even briefly, than I want you with us. That's all you need to understand." 

Its stupid and rash and doesn't make any sense and to be told to just accept it doesn't sit well with him. Silas opens his mouth to argue but gets interrupted when a hand comes up to point at him accusingly.

"Now if you keep questioning me like this with those big ol sad eyes of yours I won't give you a warning the next time I toss you over my shoulder."

Silas closes his mouth with an audible click despite wanting to point out that they hadn't given him a warning the first time either. Its a fight he know he can't win and with frustration, he gives in and whips his eyes to the sand.

"...Thank you." He manages to grit out.

And just like that all the tension leaves Maverick like a cloud letting go of all its rain. Silas feels his shoulder get clapped and he glares at the sand.

"Think nothing of it. Now, if you're ready, I need to pack up again so you can take as much time as you need to say whatever you need to say."

\--

After the camp gets broken down for the second time that day, Maverick hefts his backpack on his shoulders along with his rifle and leads Silas out of the cove and to the left of the entrance. After a few minutes of walking, Maverick stops. When he follows their line of sight, his heart clenches.

In a neat row is a line of graves in the sand, five in total. There's wooden markes signifying each grave and on top of the mounds of sand are various shells and flowers.

"You even buried Nemoy." Silas remarks quietly, upon inspecting the last grave and seeing a worn collar settled on it.

"That the family pet? There was a food dish and some toys I found. I made sure to put it all with them." Maverick says while pulling out their cigarettes and hitting it on the heel of their palm to get one out.

He clears his throat a few times before speaking. "Yeah. He was our cat. He had the blackest fur I've ever seen. Like void."

When the sweet smell of clove wafts into his nose, Silas also feels a hand on his back.

"...You wanting me to stand here with you or do you want privacy?"

Silas is positive Maverick's seen him cry enough, so he asks for the latter.

"Alright. I'll be over there with the crates. Take as much time as you need." And with a soft pat, Maverick slips their hand away before slipping away themselves.

\--

For a long, long time, all Silas does is cry. 

He thinks he make an ocean of his own with his tears alone. Maybe even fill it up any gaps with the sheer amount of regrets he's filled with.

He thinks about the late nights pouring over books with Petra, who made the shittiest coffee he ever had the misfortune of tasting. Thinks of Nemoy's quiet purring. The arguments he'd have with Salim. The impromptu cooking lessons with Nadia. And last of all, he thinks of Curie, the captain of the ship and the one that had, whether or not if she liked it, become a mother figure to him. When he eventually stands to his feet after saying his final farewell, he doesn't feel less lonely or miserable, but he does feel grounded; like his mind has been made up about something finally. Silas stares at the graves for another moment before turning his back and walking. He knows if he dares to turn around he won't ever be able to leave, so he keeps walking until he's approaching Maverick, who's standing by the crates and watching the water as they smoke.

Wordlessly, Maverick turns towards him and offers the half finished cigarette between their fingers.

He accepts it and brings it up to his chapped lips and breathes lightly. It tastes as sweet as it smells.

"All set?" He hears them say.

"All set."

\--

It feels like eons since the last time Silas has beamed up to a ship and while familiar with the uncomfortable feeling of not being able to breathe, as for a second he lacks a body to even do so as his atoms are disassembled and then reassembled, it still catches him off guard and leaves him nearly falling to the floor of the sudden control room he's in.

An arm slips around his waist and keeps him upright. 

"Easy there." 

He mumbles a thank you as he steadies himself. The sudden change of pressures has his equilibrium off kilter and it takes him a few moments of just standing still to feel a semblance of normal once again. Looking around, the control room that connects with the cockpit looks exactly like every other one he's seen on a ship. Its all sterile whites, cold grays and green trim. He does note that the door to the cockpit is closed.

Other than a few containers stacked in a corner, there isn't much to see.

The door leading out of the control room slides open and the shortest Floran Silas has ever seen comes running in. Their skin is lavender toned, and like all Florans their eyes were large and intense, with no pupils or iris, just all uncompromising black that gleamed like ink in a glass. Half their face is concealed by blue, sturdy looking leaves which grew around their face like a bob. On the crown of their head is a pink flower in bloom.

Interestingly enough, the Floran is dressed in a shirt so large it worked better as a dress and at the very bottom, he sees pastel sweatpants sticking out that are tucked into fuzzy socks.

"Rick!" They greet excitedly, but skid to a halt and lower their gaze to him. "...I was going to say its a miracle to see you unharmed for once, but I see you found someone else to burden those injuries."

Its said with with a light and airy voice and spoken with the 's' sounds being hissed.

"Would you believe me if I said I found him like this?" Maverick asks.

When the Floran blinks at the two of them, a film briefly covers the entirety of their eyes. It reminds him of a reptile or a cat. They walk over and look him up and down, even going as far as to circle the two of them like a bird or prey.

When they finish the circle and round back to their spot in front of him, they nod sagely. "You look terrible." They say to him.  
Silas can't exactly argue that.

"Be nice, Raff." Maverick tells them.

The Floran, Raff, makes a mock salute. "I was simply making a diagnosis."

Silas slips out of Maverick's hold to stand unsteadily on his own two feet. He's a good foot and a half taller than Raff.

"The diagnosis being that I look and probably smell like shit?" He offers.

Raff lacks eyebrows and a nose thats more than two small slits, so its difficult to tell when their eyes suddenly twinkle and the corners of their sharp, fanged but toothless mouth stretches wide, whether or not they're smiling at him in a sincere way or not.

"Precisely." They agree, and it sounds amused, so he assumes the smile is sincere. "I see that our mutual friend has already made an attempt to patch you up." Their clawed finger reaches out to feel the bandages on his shoulder.

"I would have taken him to you first but he was...reluctant, to say the least. Anyways, he's going to be with us for a while." Maverick gestures towards him with one hand.

"This here is Silas Louvel. Silas, this is Rafflesia- she's our doctor and a dear friend."

Rafflesia smiles at him again. "Its nice to meet you, although I would I have liked if you weren't hurt."

"Likewise."

Maverick stands there and beams a little brighter as their gaze switches between the two of them. They shake their head a second later.

"I need to be showing you your room so you can grab a shower before Raff gives you a proper check up."

Silas grinds his teeth and tries not to feel too embarrassed about the horrible state he's in.

He startles when Rafflesia leans down and pounces onto Maverick and watches with nothing less than morbid fascination as she starts climbing up towards his back like a lizard. She loops her arms around the Novakid's shoulders and links her ankles together around their waist.

Maverick doesn't seem to give a shit at all, even seems to hum with content as he adjusts himself with the added weight.

"Comfy?" They ask her.

"Your clothes are soaked." 

"Yeah, well, I've been busy." Maverick shrugs. They peer down at Silas. "I know you aren't a fan of being carried, but the bedrooms are up a ladder. I'm sure I can heft you up if you don't have the energy to climb."

"Not a chance." Silas warns and cuts their eyes. 

Maverick holds up their hands palm forward. "Your loss. Come on, partner, let me give you a quick tour."

\--

The room that Rafflesia had exited from is the common room. Its all white tiles and white walls, but there's a lot more going on than what the control room had to offer. There's a big TV fitted against a wall, as well as a particularly comfy looking brown couch. Sandwiched between those two things is a wooden table, finely carved and colored darkly with varnish. There's a half finished can of juice on a coaster, along with an open bag of chips.

On the other side of the room is a round wooden table and some chairs, looking to be the same set from the table in front of the TV. Just behind the table is two fish tanks, one with bright red fish and one with black and white fish. All over the walls are posters from concerts. There's a big cork board hung on the wall that's covered with crude drawings, ticket stubs, what appears to be a to-do list, and most intimidating of all, a wanted poster that's stuck to the cork board with a serrated knife.

He doesn't ask about it.

The corner of the room across from the fish tanks has a small dog house that's painted white and blue and has flowers messily painted as well. There's a small, fuzzy carpet underneath it, and nearby is a water dish, food bowl, and a big stuffed Numi plush.

"Dandelion must be sleeping." Maverick hums. "Best to let them rest. She's a real menace when her naps get interrupted."

And with that the three of them walk towards the next door. The door itself isn't electronically powered like the others and merely swings open when Maverick walks through it.

"This here's the kitchen." 

Its decently sized, with shiny metal flooring, of which lacks and holes or gratings and is textured with little designs to make it nonslip. The walls are beige instead of the sterile white of the common room. The island in the middle of the kitchen is made of wood and painted white, with red trim. The sink sits in the middle of the island, and above it, hanging, is a lamp, one shaped like a star and made from stained glass. 

On the wall adjacent to the island is of course more cabinets and drawers painted just the same, but the backdrop sandwiched between the wall mounted cabinets and the ones on the floor is made up of glittering emerald mosaic tiles. The way the star lamp's light glitters off the backdrop is dazzling.

In the middle of the row of counters against the wall is the oven, which is directly across from where the sink sits. Its rustic looking and colored a rich maroon. At the end of the counters, nearest to the entry door to the kitchen is a massive fridge, which is white. There's lettered magnets on its surface and all the words made are swear words.There's a picture of Rafflesia that looks like it was drawn in crayon, with an arrow pointed at her and the words 'half pint' written next to it.

Moving on, Maverick leads them to a room that's considerably smaller and that makes sense given that it leads to the world's smallest hallway. Maverick pushes the button on the wall to the left and lets Silas take a peek. There isn't much to see, its just a laundry room with a trash chute in one corner. To the right is a steep wall that has metal handlebars welded into the side which leads up to the second floor where the bedrooms are.

"Sure you don't want me to carry you?" Maverick reiterates.

"I'll be fine." He walks ahead and starts taking the ladder one by one. It hurts his injured shoulder a lot, and his other arm trembles as he puts most of the work on it, but regardless he pushes on until he reaches the top. There's bars on the side of the top to help with pulling himself up without needing to crawl.

Maverick's head peeks up a second later, along with Rafflesia's. 

There's four rooms in the hall, two on either side and adjacent to each other. Of the four rooms, he can guess which two are occupied, given both on one side have some sort of decoration. On the door nearest to the ladder, is a poster of a Hyotyl band. 

Maverick bends down a surprising amount so that Rafflesia can slip off his back and stand on her own two feet.

"This is my room. Whenever you finish showering you can come in and I'll take a look at you." She tells him. "I'll get some things ready in the meantime." And with that she slips inside her room. 

The door down from hers is plain, aside from a few stickers here and there and the "DANGER" sign that's stuck to it.

"Welp, that's the end of the tour. Go ahead and pick either of these rooms, they're both unoccupied. Oh! And I should probably lend you some clothes for the time being, seeing as how..." 

Silas can put two and two together. "Thanks." He says far too roughly and he clears his throat and tries again.

Maverick snorts. "Not a problem. I'll go get some duds for you. Don't wait up, I'll just leave them on your bed." He offers a wave before walking off to the room with the DANGER sign.

Alone, Silas just stands there for a second and tries to process everything. 

\--

The room he's been lent is plain and spartan. There's a bed directly to his right, up against a wall, and its the kind of bed that he's used to seeing on ships. There's a metal frame that has drawers on the bottom and the frame goes above the mattress to make room for where a second bed could be bunked on top. Without a second bed on top, it just gives extra surface to put things. There is something cozy about how closed off the bed is, which he's always liked.

Across from where the bed is, is a wooden desk. Its mahogany in color and has some intricate carvings on the drawers. Aside from a plug in lamp, there's nothing else on it. On the same wall as the desk but a few feet down from it, is a door, which he guesses is where the bathroom is. At the end of the room, flat against the wall and facing him, is a wardrobe and a clock. There's a TV mounted into the wall above the desk that makes the bed the optimal spot for watching it. 

Silas walks to the bathroom and steps in. Immediately across from him is the toilet, which is made from white porcelain. To the right of the toilet is a shower which is built with two frosted glass panels surrounding it. Directly to the right of him is the sink, also porcelain, and above it a mirror that also acts as a cabinet. 

Silas pointedly does not look at the mirror and instead begins to shrug off his ragged and filthy jeans. Proceeds to dump it directly into the trash bin. He opens the door to the shower and is relieved to find a bottle of shampoo, conditioner, and a fresh bar of soap. 

He showers with water that's set to near boiling and doesn't turn it off until he's been scrubbed raw several times over and his hair has been washed twice. The murky water that pools at his feet before slipping down the drain is disconcerting. It feels like he's lost even more weight by just cleaning himself. 

The towel that's on the rack by the sink is a little musty from just sitting unused, but he hardly gives a shit, given the state he'd been in fifteen minutes ago. He towels off quickly and keeps his face down when he approaches the sink with the towel wrapped around his waist. There's a comb and a brush on the edge of the sink. He starts with the comb first and eases his way into detangling his mess of hair. It takes almost as long as the shower due to him not wanting to yank or pull unnecessarily. 

He considers his beard and how he'll have to look in the mirror in order to shave it off. Feels anxiety well up than and needs a moment to steady himself. He finds a pair of scissors in the cabinet along with an electronic shaver. He doesn't need to look at himself to be able to cut the excess off before he can use the shaver without jamming it.  
Nervously, he lets one of his green eyes flicker up at his reflection. He winces and feels his stomach drop. The shower had done miracles, but there was no fixing the gaunt look in his face, not without proper meals and sleep. 

There's a lot more freckles than he remembers.

Swallowing hard, he starts to shave off the beard that's been bothering him for months. It takes a while, and he even has to use a razor to clean up the rest of the stubble the shaver couldn't get, but eventually his face is smooth like he prefers it to be.

Silas can only really look at himself in small increments, such as looking at his own eyes, or his chapped lips, or his hair, before he has to snatch his eyes away and stare at the sink for a while.  
He opens up a new toothbrush and brushes his teeth for several minutes, his spit tinged with blood from scrubbing so hard. 

There's nothing left to be done other than put on some deodorant, and with that done, Silas steps away from the sink and walks back into the room. He hadn't heard them come in, but at some point Maverick had left a pile of folded clothes on the bed.

There's a few shirts, some jeans, socks, and boxers. He grabs mostly at random, not really caring about what it any of it looks like aside from whether or not the shirt he'd picked is long sleeved or not. The less of him visible, the better. 

Not feeling like himself, but at least looking mildly like the man he had been before, Silas steps out of the bedroom and into the hall, the cold floor of the ship seeping past his socks and making him shiver.

Despite being told to do so, Silas still feels hesitant to walk over to Rafflesia's room, even more so to raise a hand in knock. With a steadying breath, he gets it over with.

The door slides open a second later and Rafflesia stands in the doorway. She eyes him up and down apprasingly and Silas stiffens under her scrutiny.

"You are looking much better." She tells him with that sharp smile. She moves aside to let him in. "Come in!"

Rafflesia's room is busy to say the least. Its the presumably the same size as the one he's been allowed to stay in, but there's so much crowding up the space that it really only feels suitable for someone her size to live in. The layout is the same, except the bed was on the left, whereas his was on the right. The bed itself isn't at all standard- its framed with wood, the headboard being carved with floral designs that look expertly crafted. The mattress is simple, covered in brightly colored sheets instead of blankets. Looking up, he can see why Rafflesia wouldn't be cold in the least.

Hanging over the bed, mounted to the ceiling, is a large UV lamp, rectangular in shape and about the same width and height as the Floran.

"Impressed?" Rafflesia asks when she follows his line of sight. She stands up a little straighter and puffs out her chest. "Rick made it for me as a gift when I first joined."

"The lamp?"

She shakes her head. "Not just that- the bed frame too. He's really good at woodwork. All the wooden furniture you've seen was made by him." She perks up as if just remembering something. "Maybe he'll make you something too!"

Silas winces at the thought. "He's done more than enough."

He would honestly feel better if Maverick just outright asked him for something in return. Maybe feel less like he needs to scramble to make himself useful before he's abandoned in the middle of nowhere. The past day and half all still feels like a fever dream.

Rafflesia shrugs and gestures for him to follow her to the very back of the room, which is slightly obscured from all the plants; there's some hanging from woven nets, others sat simply on the floor and some adorning the walls on little wooden shelves.

At the back of the room is a large table surrounded by crates and shelves of medical supplies, equipment and books. Rafflesia gestures for him to take a seat, which Silas does while squinting at the names of some of the books on the shelf.

She picks up a medical scanner, the electronic tablet looking too big for her small hands. "Remove your shirt, please."

Silas would rather not. "The scanner can read beyond fabrics, can't it?"

She nods. "It can, but I'd like to see how your shoulder is doing with my own eyes. Rick patched up your shoulder as best as he could, but even if the bullet passed through it cleanly, there still might be infection."

Figuring the quicker he gets on with it the quicker it'll be over with, Silas unbuttons his shirt and slides it off. 

"Thank you." Rafflesia taps a few things on the screen of the tablet and a second later a red light begins to pass over him from top to bottom. The tablet beeps when its finished with its scan and he hears Rafflesia hum as her dark eyes read the diagnostics.

"It is obvious without the scan, but you are extremely underweight for your age and height. Malnourished and dehydrated as well." She tells him.

"I figured as much."

"What is worrying, however, is your high temperature. Have you felt dizzy or nauseous at all? Maybe chilled?"

Silas frowns. "...I did feel dizzy in the shower, but I thought it was because I had the water so hot. As for chilled, this ship is freezing, so I didn't really think about it."  
Rafflesia hums, which makes him on edge. 

"I see. I'm going to take a look at your shoulder. Do you mind if I touch you?"

He does, but only because he can't imagine touching someone as sinewy and gaunt as him would be pleasant. "Go ahead."

Rafflesia sets the tablet on the table and brings a chair over, which she places directly across from him. She leans in and carefully starts to pull back the bandages around his shoulder, mindful of the sharp claws on her fingers.

"...Your wound is infected." She says evenly after a moment.

He isn't sure what to say to that. "Sorry?" 

Rafflesia snorts. "It doesn't look too terrible. It would be a lot worse if Rick hadn't bandaged it. I'll need to clean it up and then give you antibiotics to take afterwards." 

She gets up from her chair and goes to one of the crates and pulls out a small medical box before walking back over and taking her seat again. Silas watches her slip on two pairs of gloves. 

"Sharp claws." She explains.

Rafflesia pulls out some alcohol wipes and fresh bandaging. The wipes are freezing and Silas flinches when she first swipes it against his shoulder. It doesn't take her long at all to clean the wound. 

"Since the bullet exited your shoulder cleanly, it won't scar as badly." She tells him while wrapping a fresh bandage on his shoulder.

With the medical supplies put away and the used materials thrown away, Rafflesia guides him over to lay on her bed. 

"I'll put you on an IV so we can get you hydrated. It's the only thing we can fix at the moment- everything else will need time and patience." 

Silas lays on her bed and stares up at the UV lamp, which is thankfully off. He's had a lifetime of worth of sun in the past three months. 

"How long do you think it'll take for me to get healthy?" He asks while she walks back over to her supplies. 

She disappears behind a plant that's taller than her.

He hears her hum as she thinks. "You'll be stable relatively shortly once your infection is dealt with. But gaining back all the weight and muscle you've lost will take months if done correctly."

Silas wonders if Maverick had anticipated having him here that long. "...I can leave once I'm stable. I don't want to be a burden."

Rafflesia slips from behind a plant and walks back towards the bed with an IV bag already looped around a gravity drop, which squeaks as it rolls next to her. The medical box is in the crook of her arms. She takes a seat on the edge of the bed and places the box down to pull out another pair of gloves, an alcohol wipe, gauze and tape.

"I would prefer if you stayed with us until you are fully healthy and not just able to stand up without passing out." Rafflesia says while wiping the crook of his elbow with a wipe. "Do you mind needles?"

He doesn't.

When the IV is stuck into his arm and secured with gauze and tape, Rafflesia doesn't move to get up.

"Can I ask how you ended up like this?" She asks delicately.

Silas keeps his gaze on the UV lamp. "Was stranded for three months."

"That'll do it, yes." Rafflesia agrees. "Our immediate goal will to be getting rid of your infection. I'd like to get you started on antibiotics today, which you will take twice a day and after meals. Even when you temperature has lowered and you feel better, you will need to finish the entirety of what I give you, do you understand?"

He nods.

"Good. Seeing as how you are malnourished, you will also be given multivitamins to take each day. I recommend three meals a day, but for now try to keep the meals light as to not overwhelm yourself. Things like soups or sandwiches will be ideal. And of course, drink as much fluids as you can." 

The IV makes him colder than he already is and when Rafflesia catches him shivering, she carefully tucks her sheets over him, mindful to leave the arm with the IV uncovered. When her hand slips over his, Silas turns to look at her. Her skin is smooth and taut like the stem of a plant, but its not at all soft. Instead, its hardened like a carapace.

"I can help you recover physically, but I am not a psychologist." Rafflesia tells him. 

Silas wonders if his trauma and mental unwellness is so obvious that it exudes off him in waves or if she just has the mind to assume nothing would be perfectly sound after being stranded.

"But," She continues. "If you need someone to talk to, I don't mind being that someone."

He swallows hard. Gets that feeling of being overwhelmed again that pushes down his throat and settles into his gut where it sits there restlessly. He shouldn't be this shell shocked that people are kind, especially a doctor, but Silas figures that being alone for so long has made him forget; has made him almost sensitive to kindness.

He squeezes her hand, once. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind."

\--

After an hour of being strapped to the IV, Rafflesia gently slips the needle out of his arm and covers the spot with a band-aid.

"Take these with you." She says and holds out a bottle of antibiotics and multivitamins. "Oh! We should probably get you something to eat. I'm not really sure what we have..."

He takes the bottles and thanks her. "Whatever's fine. What do you two usually eat?"

At that, Rafflesia raises one hand and taps a finger against her cheek. "Well...Take out, usually. Rick hates cooking and I don't really know how to make anything."

He can't help but think of Curie just than. "I'm a half decent cook. Maybe I can whip something up for the three of us."

Rafflesia squares her feet and places one hand on her hip and points with the other at him sternly. "I forbid you from cooking. You shouldn't be moving your shoulder anymore than you have to and you've barely rested enough to be standing around cooking for three people." 

It was worth a try. "Fine. Am I allowed to be in the kitchen while someone else cooks?"

"Nope. You should go rest in bed. I can bring the food to you."

Silas dislikes the idea of being waited on, but the look Rafflesia is giving him doesn't leave much in the room of arguing. 

"I'll see if Rick can get us take out." She tells him and fuck, he'd rather not eat at all if it meant relying on the Novakid more than he already has. But he doesn't get a chance to stop her, so instead of being present for the conversation, Silas quickly walks to the room across from Mavericks and tries not to listen too closely through the door when he hears the Floran speaking with them.

He sets the bottles of pills on the desk and takes a seat on the bed, feeling useless and weak. The door to his room slides open a minute later and Rafflesia and Maverick walk in, the latter looking dressed down in a fresh pair of leather pants and a black collared button up with red yokes along the shoulders. A new hat sits on their head, mostly the same as the last, of which was still in the bathroom, as Silas had been unsure what to do with it, given it was soaked.

"You clean up real nice. I don't think that beard was doing you any favors." Maverick says in greeting before yawning. It was obvious they'd been napping and had been woken up by Rafflesia to get food, the fact of which makes him feel shittier than he already had.

They walk towards him and puts a hand on his good shoulder before pointedly looking at the jeans he'd been lent.

Maverick snorts. "Say, how many times did you have to roll up the hem of those jeans?"

He flushes and shrugs out of their touch.

"I'm just horsing around. Anywhoo, what am I getting for dinner? You two can decide." Maverick continues and walks away from Silas to go inspect the pill bottles on the desk.

"We haven't eaten from that curry place in a while." Rafflesia suggests, but ultimately looks over at Silas for input. "But if theres something you'd like, we can get it."

He curls inward under both her question and her attention. Silas keeps his eyes averted to the floor.

"I don't have a preference." He tells her and maybe he says it more firmly than necessary because Rafflesia just nods and doesn't try to get anymore input on the matter from him.

"Curry!" She tells Maverick, who just hums and sets the bottles down. 

"Sounds good. I'll pick up enough so that we have plenty leftovers for breakfast too. You two watch the ship while I'm gone." And with that Maverick leaves with a wave.

\--

Rafflesia stays in his room while Maverick is gone and she shows him how to work the TV, which he already knows how to, but lets her do it anyways. She shows him all the channels she likes best and even speaks at length about some of the recent programs she's seen, all the while seated next to him on the bed as he lays down.

"Me and Rick usually watch concerts together, but lately I've had to record most of them." She tells him with a notably sad tone. 

"Is he gone a lot?"

Rafflesia nods. "He's gone for days on end sometimes when he's out chasing a bounty. It gets...lonely when its just me on the ship, but I can't really blame him since he's working hard to get the pixels to keep us afloat."

She catches him looking at her and she straightens up and shakes her head furiously. "I have Dandelion so I'm not actually alone."

"Dandelion is...?" He prompts.

"Our pet! She's a snugget. We call her Dandelion because she's all white and fluffy."

An apt name choice.

"How long have you been with Maverick?" He asks the length of time rather than the circumstances, given he hasn't told her the details of his own. He doubts he will anytime soon.

"Six months, I think."

He nods. "You two seem close. I wouldn't be surprised if you said you've known him for years."

Rafflesia laughs delightedly at that. "He's like the big brother I never got to have!" She lays down on her stomach next to him and settles her chin over her folded arms and looks up at him.

"He's done a lot for me." She says more seriously. "Sure, I patch him up when he gets messed up, but I still feel like I owe him a lot. Like there's a debt I haven't fulfilled." 

He can relate to the feeling.

"But I don't really think about it too much- after all, Rick doesn't really care about that stuff. I think he's just happy to have another person on the ship." She pokes his hip with her finger. "And now that you're here, I'm sure he's even happier."

"...Even if I might not be staying?" If he asks quietly enough, maybe she won't hear him.

Rafflesia shrugs as much as she can in the position she's in. "I don't see why not. Just because you might leave doesn't mean we can't enjoy it while you're here."

What could be enjoyable about tending to a grief stricken, hollowed out shell of a man? Even when he was at his best, Silas had always had a temper, although now it seemed more like the temper had him, as anger welled up in him sometimes without reason and it always did so with an exhausting hunger.

He turns to watch the TV and says nothing.

\--

Maverick comes back about twenty minutes later, stepping into Silas' room with an absurd amount of plastic bags all hanging off their arms like coat hangers in a closet. Rafflesia slides off the bed to help him set things down on the desk and hisses at Silas when he tries to get up and help as well.

He firmly remains on the bed, although he does adjust the pillows so he can sit upright to eat.

"You mind if we all eat together?" Maverick asks him while passing over a container of food, napkins, and some utensils. A can of oculemonade is set on the nightstand.

He isn't going to tell them no when he was resting in a borrowed bed, wearing borrowed clothes, and eating food he didn't pay for. 

Silas shakes his head.

Despite there being a chair and the entire other half of his bed, he sees Rafflesia and Maverick take a seat on the floor next to eachother with their backs supported by the metal frame of the bed. The urge to tell them they can sit wherever they like is stifled by the relief of not having eyes on him while he eats.

With everyone settled in and the TV set to some Apex fashion show, they begin to eat. Silas had said he hadn't cared about what food was picked, but when he opens up his container he's pleased to see coralcreep curry served with coconut rice.

It tastes even better than he remembers.

Dinner is eaten with the comfortable noise of the television and Maverick and Rafflesia's comments about the fashion show, which range from scathing to mildly impressed. It strikes him like a knife to the heart how domestic this is, how the two of them effortlessly make him belong despite hardly knowing him. He doesn't start crying, but his eyes are more watery than he'd care to acknowledge.

He manages to eat about the third of his food and sets the rest down on the nightstand. Rafflesia, as if waiting to hear the sound of exactly that, sets her own food down and gets up to walk over to the desk.

She grabs a pill from each bottle before offering them to him. 

The oculemonade makes everything go down easy.

Around the time the fashion show ends, both Rafflesia and Maverick have also eaten their fill and start to clean up. When Maverick takes his container from the nightstand, they look at him and crook their head to the side.

"You're shivering real bad." They point out like its something particularly amusing.

"Ship's cold." Is all he says.

Maverick hums in agreement before reaching out to pinch the corner of his blanket, testing the fabric between their gloved thumb and index finger. Surely theres nothing fascinating enough about the blanket to warrant that, but as if remembering something by feeling it, Maverick lets go and straightens.

"Be back in a jiffy." They say and walk out of the room. 

When he looks at Rafflesia, who's in the middle of gathering all the empty drinks into a bag, she shrugs, and exits soon after.

Since the TV's still on, Silas watches it halfheartedly, not really absorbing any of the show that's on since he's beginning to teeter between wakefulness and blissful sleep. Just as he's truly falling asleep, the door to his room slides open and Maverick steps in. 

Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Silas sits up.

"No need for that, you can stay comfortable." Maverick says. There's a comforter rolled up under one arm and what appears to be a poncho in their other hand. The poncho is mainly turqoise, with white and taupe here and there. The design geometrical and repeating. There's cotton tassels on the hem of it.

Without a word, Maverick unrolls the blanket and tosses it over him in one motion. It flutters over him and settles.

"Put this on. It'll keep you warm when you feel good enough to walk around more." They say and offer the poncho.

He accepts the poncho and slips it on with some fussing and finds that the inside of it is sewn with soft white fleece. 

When he lays back down, already almost back asleep, he feels warm. Cozy, even.

Maverick stares at him for a moment. "Looks good on you. Far better than it does when I wear it." They say, and Silas, even while delirious with sleep and medicine, has to notice that its the second time that day they've made a remark like this. He knows what he must look like after months of being stranded. Either Maverick was being polite or there was a joke to be made about their lack of eyes.

He mumbles a thanks on principle, even if Silas isn't really thankful at all to be reminded that he does in fact have a physical body that can be perceived by others. Maybe if he sinks further down enough under the covers he can disappear. It'll at least make him warmer.

Maverick offers a nod before walking towards the door. "Holler if you need anything." They say, before slipping out of view completely.

\--

Silas isn't sure how long he sleeps, but when he next blearily opens up his eyes he finds he doesn't feel well rested at all. In fact, he feels somehow worse than before. The ship is suddenly both too hot and too cold and there's a nasty feeling taking residence in his stomach. When he swipes hair out of his face, he finds with disgust that he's drenched in sweat. 

Getting up to use the bathroom is hell, as he has to hold onto whatever's nearby to keep from falling flat on his face. By the time he's washed his hands and is currently splashing cold water against his face, he hears a knock on the door. He calls for whoever to come in and isn't surprised when the bathroom door peeks open and he sees Rafflesia looking at him with a worried frown.

"Things always get worse before they get better." She says to him with a hint of humor. He can appreciate her not saying he looks like shit warmed over.

"Did you throw up?" She asks while he's drying off his face. 

"No, but I'm close to it." Without thinking he places the towel back over the mirror like a tarp and then stills once he realizes what he's done in front of company. 

Rafflesia looks at the covered mirror and then to him, and the silence from her is stifling. 

"You should lay back down." She finally says, and offers out a hand. "Come on."

Silas lets himself be pulled back to bed and cringes when he feels how sweat dampened his pillow is. He flips it on the other side.

There's a glass of water on his nightstand that wasn't there when he woke up, along with a plate of buttered toast.

Rafflesia waits until after he's taken a few sips of water and has settled back down to flip on her tablet, which he hadn't realized was in her other hand this whole time.

"Your temperature is higher than yesterday, but I'm sure you can tell just by how you feel." She tells him when the scan finishes.

He groans in answer and she laughs.

"All we can do is make sure you keep taking your antibiotics and drink plenty of fluids. But since your fever is so high I'll also need to give you something to help with that. Do you think you can manage a few bites?" She gestures towards the toast.

Begrudgingly, Silas reaches out for one of the slices of toast and takes a few bites. It tastes like sand and getting crumbs all over himself irritates him.

"Great. Here, take your antibiotics and I'll go to get you something to help with the fever." She plops a pill into his open palm and doesn't leave until he's swallowed it down with some water.

\--

He doesn't remember her coming back with the other medicine, nor does he remember even taking it, but the next time he wakes up he sees a new bottle has joined the others on his desk.

He wonders with great annoyance how many others will be there.

\--

Silas sleeps and sleeps, only waking up to take medicine, drink a few sips of water, or force down food. He doesn't remember anything Rafflesia says to him and hardly even remembers when she's even there.

Two days pass like this, but on the third, when he opens up his eyes, he finds that things seem a little less hazy. When he tosses the covers off and slides his feet over the side of his bed and stands, he notes he doesn't suffer a sudden head rush or feel the need to immediately lay back down. He doesn't feel strong, not in the least, but he feels...stable. Like he won't just be blown away like ash in the wind.

He stretches in an attempt to shake the lethargy that's been clinging to his bones and walks over to the bathroom. The outfit he's been wearing for almost three days is sorely in as much need of a wash as he is and he shrugs out of everything and leaves it in a pile by the door. There's fresh towels on the rack, meaning someone, probably Rafflesia, has been in here while he was sleeping. The damp towel that had been thrown over the mirror is missing, but has been replaced with a cloth instead.

He showers for a long time.

When he's finished, he walks over to the wardrobe where he'd put away the clothes Maverick had lent him and pulls out a thick flannel long sleeve and another pair of jeans. It isn't as warm as the poncho, nor is there the comforting weight, but it'll keep him from shivering.

Now fully dressed and his long hair mostly dried, Silas focuses on stripping off all the pillow cases, sheets and blankets off the bed and piles them with his discarded clothes. He brings it all out to the hallway.

"Oh! You're up!" Rafflesia says brightly when she walks out of her room and sees him. "I was just about to check up on you." She walks over to him and looks him up and down before holding up her cupped hand. He leans down and lets her set it on his forehead. 

She takes her hand back and smiles at him. "Your fever is officially gone."

"Thank fuck." He grouses, and she smiles even wider. 

"You'll still need to finish your antibiotics, but you don't need to take the medicine for the fever anymore." Rafflesia looks at all the laundry in the hall. "Let me help you with that."

Rafflesia waits at the bottom of the ladder and Silas stands at the top and one by one he tosses down laundry for her to catch. He feels bad about her having to smell his sweaty clothes and linens, but she seems to enjoy catching the laundry. With everything passed down, Silas heads down the ladder and follows her into the laundry room.

He politely declines her help with the meager task of putting a load into the washer and pouring some detergent in. He does the linens and blankets first, and saves the clothes for later.

"Rick's out on a job so its just us two." Rafflesia tells him when the washer starts its cycle and the two of them exit the laundry room to head towards the kitchen.

"Did he just leave?"

Rafflesia shakes her head as she enters the kitchen first and makes a beeline for the fridge.

"He left yesterday evening." She pulls out a can of kiwi juice and when she shakes it at him, he nods and she pulls out a second one. 

Silas takes a seat on one of the stools and accepts the drink she hands him. "Did he say when he was going to be back?" Not that its any of his business.

Rafflesia shrugs. "He comes and goes." 

He doesn't press the subject further and busies himself with taking a sip of his kiwi juice. Theres a sound like galloping before the door leading out the kitchen to the common room slams open and a glowing, fluffy animal rushes in.

"Dandelion!" Rafflesia fusses and slides off her stool. She crouches down and balances on the balls of her feet and puts her hands on her hips. "You can't run into the kitchen like that." She tells them.

All her chastising seems to do is make the snugget purr loudly.

"Well, I guess no one was cooking so its okay this time." She concedes. She turns to look over her shoulder and gestures for Silas to come over.

He sets his drink down, slides off his stool, and walks over to her and takes a seat on the floor. His balance isn't good enough to crouch like she is.

Dandelion is massive, about the size of a large dog, but its all roundness and fluff. Their beady eyes look up at him with a twinkle of curiosity and Silas doesn't need any further convincing to sink a hand into their glowing fur and pet them.

"She's almost bigger than you." He tells Rafflesia.

"I'm not surprised, she eats a lot and sleeps almost as much."

He perks up at that. "What does she eat?"

"She's a herbivore, so things like fruits and veggies. She really likes apples. Rick likes to peel them so that the peel is a all in one piece so she can nibble it like string." She says. 

The image it conjures is diabetes inducing.

\--

The next morning, Silas awakes to the smell of pancakes. He doesn't bother changing his clothes, but does manage to brush his teeth and pocket his medicine before heading down the ladder. Rafflesia had said she didn't know how to cook and that Maverick themselves hated it, but by the humming coming from the inside of the kitchen he can take a guess as to who's the one making the ship smell so good.

Maverick is standing in front of the stove, a skillet in hand, and is flipping a pancake when Silas enters. The humming dies down and they offer a wave to him.

"Howdy," They greet. "Its good to see you up and about. How're you feeling?"

Silas walks over to them, arms crossed in his anxiety, and leans against the counter to watch them cook. 

"A lot better, thanks. Did you just finish up your job?"

Maverick picks up a spatula and wiggles it underneath the finished pancake and backs up enough to open up the oven where he sees an impressive tower of pancakes is seated on a plate. He adds the latest pancake before closing the over and straightening.

"Yep. Got back about an hour ago." Maverick goes over to the fridge and pulls out a pack of bacon and walks back over to the stove. Using the same skillet, they start to layer in bacon. 

"How do you like yours? Raff likes hers no more than warmed up, and I like mine brittle like egg shells." They ask.

He gags at the thought of eating raw bacon, but remembers that Florans were renowned carnivores.

"In the middle of what you two prefer, I guess."

Maverick nods. "Raff's in the common room feeding Dandelion. We were going to watch one of the concerts she has recorded after I'm done cooking. You're of course welcome, unless you'd prefer peace and quiet."

He shrugs. "I'll eat with you guys."

That earns him a friendly clap on his shoulder. "Good. Why don't you mosey on to the couch and relax? Won't take me much longer to finish."

Silas remains where he is, even if some of the bacon grease pops at him. "I'll stay here with you and help bring plates out."

"Awful kind of you. All that sleep made you less ornery?" They ask.

He cuts his eyes at them.

"Suppose not." Maverick chuckles. "Almost forgot- Raff wants me to take her shopping sometime soon, but I told her to wait until you were a bit better."

Silas quirks a brow. "Why's that?"

"So you can come with, of course." Maverick sets aside the barely cooked bacon for Raff and keeps the rest on the skillet to continue cooking. "I wanted to get you some clothes of your own and it'd be easier with you there to pick out what you want."

Their answer simultaneously confuses him more and sets him on edge.

"You don't need to buy me new clothes."

Maverick scoffs. "Wasn't asking for permission. And as cute as I think you look in my old duds, a man should have his own wardrobe, don't you think?"

"You've already done enough for me. I'm not going to ask you to feed me, provide me with medical care, and buy me clothes." Silas argues.

Maverick flips the bacon over with more force than necessary. "Well, good thing you aren't asking, right?"

His hands clench into trembling fists and when he opens his mouth to argue, Maverick whips their face towards him and succinctly shuts him up.

"If you're going to be staying with us, than you need clothes. Now are you going to keep sassing me or are you going to help me plate all this food like you said you would?"

Realzing arguing with Maverick was pointless as usual and only succeeded in making him virulently pissed off, Silas busies himself with looking through drawers and cabinets for plates and utensils.

It only pisses him off more when Maverick has to tell him where everything is.

\--

With all the food and drinks laid out on the table in front of the TV in the common room, they all take a seat. Maverick takes the seat on the middle cushion, with Rafflesia to his right, and Silas sits on his left. Rafflesia hits play on the remote and the prerecorded concert starts.

Silas eats in silence, still simmering with annoyance from the conversation in the kitchen, but Maverick and Rafflesia speak eagerly about the concert, arguing which bands were the best.

"Moon Age Lobotomy, hands down." Maverick tells her as they bring a strip of bacon to their face. The gloves notably stay on. 

In his peripheral, Silas watches with fascination as the bacon slips through what appears to be the surface tension of Maverick's form that work as skin. He hears an audible sizzle, like the bacon had been disintegrated.

"You just think the guy on bass is hot." Rafflesia argues.

"Course I do." He hears Maverick scoff. "Doesn't change the fact the music sounds good too."

When all the plates are cleared, Silas starts to stack them all up. He doesn't care about the concert, but he knows the other two do, so he makes it his job to take all the dishes to the kitchen. Rafflesia catches his arm as he walks behind the couch, as to not block the TV.

"Don't do the dishes, that's my job." She tells him.

"Okay."

He walks into the kitchen and sets the dirty dishes into the sink and wonders whether or not he should go back to the couch or go up to the rooms. The decision to at least see the first band finish their act is decided and Silas walks back into the common room.

He pauses in the doorway.

Maverick has sprawled out their long legs onto the table, mindful of the drinks, and has an arm stretched over the back of the couch and the other holding his silver flask, which he sees them take sips from. Rafflesia's legs are folded with her knees pressed to her chest and she leans against Maverick's side.

The two of them look comfortable and the last thing he wants to do is get in the way of that. Before he can retreat back into the kitchen, Maverick must sense someone's watching them because they turn towards him.

With one curl of a gloved finger, Silas is invited back to the couch.

Anxious, he walks over to the couch and hesitates for a full second before taking his seat again. Crosses his arms. 

He sees Maverick take another sip from their flask before twisting the top back on one handedly and slipping it into the shirt pocket. With their arm free, they set it on the back of the couch to mirror the one already there. Silas is hyper aware of it.

Despite the barrier of Maverick's shirt, he can still feel their warmth radiating off them in waves. Its soothing- he can understand why Rafflesia is curled up against them. So soothing in fact, that Silas feels his eyes start to fall shut no matter how much he fights to keep them open.

When he wakes up hours later and finds that he's in bed, the blanket tucked over him and the lights off, he doesn't have to think too hard on how it is he ended up there.

\--

It takes a full week of antibiotics, multivitamins, and plenty of sleep and food for Silas to feel a semblance of healthy again. Frankly, all the sleep has him feeling antsy with the excess energy he now has and staying in the room all day watching TV will probably drive him insane so he avoids doing that as much as possible. He finds a broom and mop and other cleaning supplies and decides to busy himself with deep cleaning the kitchen. 

He's horrified to find bread all the way in the back of one of the cabinet that's completely green with mold.

Seeing what might be lying in the shadows, he empties out all of the cabinets, wipes them down with disinfectant and throws out anything that's expired or nearly to it. He moves on to the fridge and is thankful its relatively clean and well stocked, aside from the milk on the bottom shelf. When he picks it up, there's no sloshing of liquid, instead a slow and sturdy move of something solid.

"Does that count as cheese?" Rafflesia asks when she walks in and spots him holding it.

"Fuck no." He answers immediately and chucks the abomination into the trash.

Its the worst thing he finds in the fridge, but there are some close contenders. Rafflesia seems content to watch him clean as she snacks on a spooky donut, the color of which has always turned him off enough for him to avoid ever trying one. He doesn't mind her watching, nor does he mind her talking with him here and there.

He pulls out all the seasonings off the rack near the oven and gives them a whiff. Most of them are expired, aside from the salt and pepper.

When the kitchen has been gutted and then subsequently baptized, Silas washes his hands thoroughly and admires his work. 

"Its practically sparkling in here." Rafflesia tells him and he stands up a little straighter for it. 

She gestures for him to take a seat next to her. "Why don't you take a break and eat something?"

He shakes his head. "I wanted to clean up so I could make something."

She perks up at that. "I remember you saying you were a half decent cook. Are you going to prove that?"

He smirks. "You're going to wish you didn't fill up on donuts."

\--

Maverick saunters into the kitchen just as Silas is pulling the quiche out of the oven and setting it on the counter to cool off before he serves it. 

"Goddamn it smells good in here." They say and walk straight over to where the quiche is to give it an inspection. 

"It needs to cool for a few minutes." He tells them and both Maverick and Rafflesia make a huff of impatience. 

Silas tries not to feel too good about it. Fails.

Maverick walks over to the fridge, grabs an iced coffee, and closes it, before opening it back up and doing a double take. "Did you clean in here too?"

Rafflesia nods on his behalf. "He cleaned the whole kitchen!"

Maverick makes a point of walking all around the kitchen and looking at things as they sip their iced coffee. He walks back over to Silas and instead of clapping him on the shoulder as usual, they set their gloved hand on top of his head and ruffle his hair.

"Barely finished recovering and you're already pulling your weight. Eager; I like that." They tell him and it makes the tips of his ears warm. 

It feels good to finally be able to do something for others, especially ones that he owes so much to. Its with great anxiety he serves them both a slice of the quiche once its done cooling off and waits with baited breath to see how they like it.

Rafflesia digs in first, but doesn't say a word until Maverick has tried a few bites.

"Partner, this is some of the best stuff I've eaten!" Maverick finally says and the anxiety that had ballooned in Silas' chest immediately deflates and is replaced with pride. He ducks his head down and mumbles a quiet thanks.

Rafflesia hums around the next bite she takes. "Did you work as a cook at some point or is this just a hobby you're really good at?"

He's positive his entire face is beet red. "Its just something I like to do in my spare time." He answers.

Maverick points a fork at him. "Never do something you're good at for free. In fact, how about I pay you to be our chef? At least for as long as you're wanting to stick around. That way, whenever you head off you'll have some pixels to your name."

Logically, its a sound offer, but it doesn't sit well with Silas at all. 

He shakes his head. "I can't accept being paid for it." 

Maverick huffs with annoyance and sets their fork down. "You love to sass me, don't you?"

Silas frowns. "I'm politely asking you not to pay me."

"Yeah, well, I'm unpolitely telling you that's not going to sit right with me. If you work on this ship, you get paid. Now if you don't want to be a cook, thats fine, I'll pay you for whatever work you do." They tell him firmly and then crook their head to the side in thought.

"Say, what was your last job?" 

He's aware Maverick is asking him in that specific way to avoid sharing any of his business with Rafflesia.

"I was a translator and historian." He answers.

Maverick whistles. "Being a cook would be way below your pay grade."

"A jobs a job and you don't seem interested in having me look over some dusty books or artifacts." 

He hears Maverick hum as they consider that. "So you don't mind cooking?"

He shakes his head.

"But you do mind being paid for it?"

He nods.

Maverick picks up their fork and starts eating again. "Well tough shit, partner. You're getting paid. And I'm getting you one of those stupid ass aprons with the puns on them."

"Can I pick it out?" Rafflesia chimes in after tentatively watching the two argue. 

Maverick pats her shoulder. "Of course." 

Silas considers how the short time he's known Maverick has mostly acted as a test whether to see who's stubbornness wins out. He's of course unsurprised and irritated that he is not at all pulling ahead in the lead. Tired from cleaning and cooking and arguing, he simply takes a seat and serves himself some of the quiche.

"What languages do you know?" Rafflesia asks him after a solid minute of silence.

"I'm fluent in several human languages and can read and write the common tongue of both Hylotl and Avian." 

He startles when Rafflesia jumps excitedly in her seat and slaps both her hands onto the island.

"Can you teach me Hylotl? I have a bunch of magazines and merch I can't read." She says.

Her enthusiasm is infectious and Silas finds himself smiling a little. "Sure, why not?"

She makes a high pitched sound that hurts his ears and he can barely keep his eyes on her when she slips off her stool and races around the island to hug him tightly. Her hug knocks the air out of him, but he makes no effort to push her off. Nervously, he wraps an arm around her and returns the hug.

She lets him go a second later, completely forgetting about her half finished slice of quiche, and heads towards the door towards the bedrooms.

"I'm going to grab a magazine so you can show me some words." She says without a split second to spare and takes off running. The door to the kitchen swings endlessly for a minute before it finally loses its momentum. 

Maverick's quiet laughter pulls his attention from the door. 

"You got her all riled up. Hope you can handle it." They say with amusement.

Silas shrugs and ignores how nice the sound of their laughter is. 

It falls quiet between them again. Its not tense, per se, nor is it awkward, it just...is. He almost jumps when Maverick speaks again.

"You said you know a bunch of human languages." They start. "...Eso incluye el espanol?"

"Si." He answers, and Maverick hums approvingly. "Donde aprendiste a hablarlo?"

There's a distinct stiffening of their shoulders, as if someone had just pointed a pistol into their back. All he had done was ask where they learned to speak Spanish. Its not exactly common for anyone other than a human to be fluent in human languages.

"Just someone I knew." Maverick finally answers with a shrug and goes back to eating. They seem relieved when Rafflesia returns with a stack of magazines, instead of the single one she had said she was getting. 

He watches Maverick bring their dish to the sink and slip out of the kitchen wordlessly and he gets the feeling all of a sudden like he's this star systems biggest asshole, for reasons he's yet to discover.

\--

A few hours later, as Silas and Rafflesia are feeding Dandelion their dinner, Maverick walks into the common room. Rafflesia looks up and sees the leather jacket and rifle on their back and frowns.

"You just came back from a job- you're leaving again already?" She bemoans while standing to her feet. Silas watches her approach the Novakid with palipatable disappointment.

"Quit your frowning, I'm just going to pick up my pay." Maverick pinches her cheek. "I didn't forget you said you wanted to go shopping and I'm thinking now that our friend here," They jut their chin over to where Silas is sitting. "- is looking healthier, we can go tomorrow. If you're agreeable."

Rafflesia lets out that ear shattering shriek of hers again before jumping on Maverick and clinging to them like a starfish. Maverick laughs and slings an arm around her and pats her back. He sets her down a moment later.

"Sounds like its a done deal- tomorrow we're all going shopping. You hear that?" Maverick says, and Silas knows he's the one the question is being targeted to.  
He grunts in affirmation.

"Good. Now I got to go get paid. See you two in a bit." 

\--

As promised, the next day after a quick breakfast, Maverick leads the two of them to the control room. They're dressed the same as usual, except without a rifle on their back, but Rafflesia seems to have put a lot of thought and effort into our outfit for that mornings excursion. 

Instead of the large, pastel colored pajamas she usually wears, Rafflesia is now wearing a white, one-shouldered top that has an impressive amount of frills. There's pink and blue embroidered stars all over it. The pair of shorts that she wears is a blinding shade of electric. A pair of white sneakers fit snugly on her feet and to pull the whole outfit together she's decided to bring with her a see through neon pink tote bag thats made from what he guesses is thermoplastic polyurethane film. 

It looks too durable to just be cheap plastic.

"Alright you two, lets go." Maverick says and after a second of them all shuffling close together on the teleporter, a bright light envelopes everything.

When Silas catches his breath and blinks a few times, he finds himself just outside of one of the largest open air markets he's ever seen. As far as his eyes can see, there are people of all races crowded together around stalls. Its not a traditional market either, as he isn't standing on sand or dirt, but instead shiny metal flooring. All of the stalls have electric lights that are just as dazzling as they are overwhelming. 

There's a glass ceiling above the market to protect from the elements, but looking around he sees that right now the weather is clear. Its nighttime on this planet, Lilith IV, he thinks Maverick had said earlier, and the stars are out and shining brightly. 

Despite the welcoming ambiance of the market, Silas feels dread coil around him. It had been a while since he had interacted with other people and he was only just getting used to the two he's met and now here he was surrounded by hundreds of people. 

He can feel himself break out into a nervous sweat.

The crowd makes no difference in Maverick's demeanor, but it positively makes Rafflesia bloom with excitement. She seems to thrive off the cacophony of sounds, the sights and the smells.  
She hops in place in what looks like an attempt to stop from running off ahead. 

"Where to first?" She asks, voice pitched louder than usual.

Maverick easily looks over the crowd, which they dwarf aside from a few others, and raises an arm to point at a neon lit mall further down from the outdoor market.

"I figure we can check out the mall first and then on our way out we look around here. Its up to you, short stack." They say. 

Rafflesia nods. "Mall first!" And starts leading the way towards it. 

Silas keeps close to Maverick, who was thankfully tall enough and bright enough that if he got separated he could easily spot them. He doesn't want it to get to that point, as he was already too aware of each person that brushed against him and every breath he himself took. For the most part, its easier to just keep his gaze lowered as he follows along. Not meeting anyones eyes does wonders for keeping him from losing it, but it does feel a shame to not soak in the sights.

When he manages to build up the courage to look up and take a peek, he realizes with horror that Maverick isn't in front of him anymore. He freezes in place before looking all around, his eyes darting amidst the sea of faces frantically.

A warm, gloved hand settles on his shoulder from behind. "Easy, I'm right here." He hears Maverick say just behind him.

Silas lets go of breath he'd been holding. He must have been walking faster and somehow ended up in front of them. He doesn't start walking again until Maverick is side by side with him.

"I can beam you back up anytime it gets to be too much, alright? Don't push yourself." Maverick says to him, hand still on his shoulder, but their face pointed directly in front to keep an eye on Rafflesia.

The fact that Maverick trusts him enough to be alone on their ship is daunting, to say the least, but he doesn't have the energy or focus to think too much about it right now.  
He simply nods to show he's heard them.

When the two of them catch up with Rafflesia a few minutes later, Silas feels like he can breathe a little better now that the market is behind them. The entrance of the mall is decorated with white marble flooring instead of metal tiles, and the neon lights of the signs reflect on it prettily. There's a water fountain in the middle of the walkway that's surrounded by benches. It would make a great spot for pictures or a place to sit down and eat.

Maverick slips their hand off him and digs inside of the right side of their jacket. They pull out a wallet, but what catches Silas' attention more is the peek of shiny metal from a pistal holstered within the jacket. 

"I put all our pixels on a card so I wouldn't have to carry around satchels of it. If you see something you want, just point at it." Maverick explains and tucks their wallet back into their jacket.

The three of them, lead once again by Rafflesia, enter the mall. Its circular in shape, with four floors. Against a wall, near the bathrooms, is a row of teleporters that lead to each floor. In the center of the first floor is a giant tree thats canopy touches the glass dome of the top floor. Its trunk is soft brown and relatively average, but whats eye catching about the tree other than its size is the vibrant pink petals on its many branches.

He has the urge to pick up a few of those petals, maybe press them in a book. 

Rafflesia leads them all to a music store first. Its the first one Silas has been into that isn't blasting the radio so loudly his teeth hurt. Its actually relatively peaceful, with whatever music that's playing off the speakers at the low enough level it feels like white noise.

He eyeballs the various sound systems for a few minutes, but ultimately spends the most time looking at all the band merchandise. There's an insane amount of posters, clothing, ship decals, and miniature holograms of singers. Eventually he loses interest and just stands where the TV is and watches whatever bands playing.

Rafflesia ends up getting a band t-shirt in, unsurprisingly, the largest size of available for it.

\--

As the three of them walk around for the next store to visit, an Apex woman standing outside of a tea shop, wearing a uniform, waves at them.

"Hello! Would you three be interested in trying a sample of our featured blend?" She asks. Theres a small table next to her with little wooden cups, a tea kettle, and a container of water that remains warm on a hot plate, and a dozen of intricately decorated bags of loose tea. 

Reading the sign on the table, Silas sees the tea advertised as: 'A tranquil blend of ethically sourced lavender, with a burst of lemon for brightness.' 

"Not much of a tea drinker myself," He hears Maverick tell the merchant.

"That's okay! Not everyone is. But, if you'd like to give it a try, I'd be more than happy to pour you and your friends a cup." She offers brightly. 

Maverick chuckles. "Sure, why not? Go ahead, please."

The merchant lines up three cups and picks up a small wooden spoon and scoops out enough of the loose tea leaves for all three. She places it in the kettle and pours water all the way to the top before setting the the top back on. 

As the tea steeps, she tells the three of them more about the tea blend, as well as the other featured items from her shop. Maverick doesn't seem too interested, but he politely listens along anyways while Rafflesia stares at the tea kettle with eagerness.

When the tea is ready to be served, the three of them watch with pleasure as the merchant serves all three cups without spilling a single drop. She gives them each a cup one by one and politely busies herself with cleaning out the kettle instead of staring at them while they try it.

Silas brings the cup up to his face and gives it a smell. He's always enjoyed tea, but he's never had anything as fancy as this. His tea was usually already in a bag for steeping and he boiled the hell out of water which always led to the tea being either bitter or mildly burnt in taste. 

When he takes a sip, he finds that not only is the tea the perfect temperature for drinking, but it isn't at all burnt or bitter. It tastes smooth and almost sweet, even without any sugar or honey. Its far too easy to drink.

Something about it just makes him smile.

"That's really good." He tells her.

The merchant, if possible, beams even brighter at his words. Before she can even open her mouth to advertise the price for the tea, Maverick speaks.

"I'll take a bag. And a kettle too." They tell her, already pulling out their wallet. When the purchase is finished and everything is settled safely into a bag padded with paper to protect the kettle, Silas feels Maverick's hand knock into his.

The bag is wordlessly transferred over to him. 

\--

After stopping by at an ice cream parlor, the three of them beam up to the third floor where the largest clothing store is. The flooring is made of see through panels with floor lights embedded in every other panel. There's a second floor to the store, one that takes up a spot on the fourth floor, and just looking at all the clothing is staggering.

Catching him hovering at the entrance, Maverick turns on heel and walks over to him. They place a hand on his lower back and shepherd him inside. 

"We aren't leaving here until you've got enough clothes for each day of the week." Maverick tells him. They hold up their hands and start listing off things off their fingers.

"That includes socks, unmentionables, and whatever else you need." They slip the bag out of his hand so he'll be able to carry all the clothes he's being ordered to pick out. 

"Now get to it. I got my own things to look for. Just come to me when you're done." And with that Maverick claps his shoulder and takes off.

Clothes shopping was entirely more difficult than Silas had remembered it being, considering he's confused as to whether or not he should get clothes that fit him now, or if he should get clothes a few sizes up for when he eventually fully gains his weight and muscle back. 

Not wanting to be stuck with clothes that barely fit him and having Maverick no doubt drag him back for another shopping trip, he decides on going with clothes that will be baggy on him for the time being.  
He tries to remember how he used to dress, back when he actually put some effort into it.

Silas picks out two button ups, one solidly blue, the other royal purple with gold embroidery. A raglan styled shirt that's gunmetal gray with black sleeves gets grabbed. He remembers how cold the ship is, and while he shouldn't pick his clothes based on where he is currently, Silas still ends up with two pullovers- one with an ombre of purples and the other a creamy beige with little fly agaric mushrooms all over it.

Picking out pants takes no time at all, he simply grabs two pairs of jeans, one black, one blue, and a pair of sweatpants.

After he's tried everything on, needing to remind himself repeatedly that there's supposed to be room, he walks out of the changing room and makes quick work of grabbing socks, underwear and a belt. He walks over to the shoe section, grateful that of all the things about his body that had changed, his shoe size would remain the same no matter what.  
He picks out a pair of work boots that aren't western in the least.

Managing to carry everything in both arms and not falling flat on his face, Silas follows after the sound of Rafflesia and Maverick's horsing around. He peeks past the mountain of clothes in his arms and spots the two of them in the corner of the shop where the accessories are. The two of them are posing obnoxiously in front of a mirror.

"Don't they have sunglasses for folks without ears?" He hears Maverick huff. "And I don't mean goggles."

Rafflesia holds up a pair of star shaped glasses to her face. "You could form some ears if you wanted to- you're just lazy." 

She strikes a pose she undoubtedly thinks is cool.

"I could form a lot of things. But I doubt the good folks of this establishment want to see just how much I can abuse that." He shoots back and leans against her, back to back, and copies her pose.  
"I don't want to see you do that either." 

Noticing Silas nearby and watching their antics, the two of them start making kissy sounds at him. He pointedly turns on heel and starts walking away.

He hears them laughing and a second later the two of them are crowding him.

"That it?" Maverick asks, looking at the bundle in his arms. They even thumb through some of the clothes, making approving sounds hear and there.

Silas switches his weight from one leg to the other, feeling uncomfortable. "...Yeah? Is this okay? I can put some of it back." He'd put them all back if he was told to, even if he can begrudgingly admit that the ombre pullover was growing on him.

Maverick scoffs and dismisses him with the wave of their hand. "I want you to grab more. Don't you need jackets? And hats?"

Not his style.

Rafflesia looks at what he's grabbed. "You didn't grab pajamas."

"I just wear boxers to sleep." He admits, and Maverick perks up at that.

"I sleep naked. Just another reason not to barge into my room." They chuckle.

Rafflesia makes a gagging sound.

"Well, if thats what you've decided on for now, lets get them bagged. We can always get more on the next trip." Maverick says breezily and leads the way to the cashier.

\--

The last store that gets visited is a book store. 

"You two head on in." Maverick tells them as their watch starts to beep with an alert. "I need to check this."

Shrugging, Rafflesia pulls Silas into the book store by his hand. Once inside, she parts ways and makes a beeline towards the medical journals and anatomy books. Its been a long time since he's read a book, much less bought one, but the love he has for them hasn't decreased the slightest. He walks down almost every isle, even past the magazines, and spends time thumbing through at least one or two things from each category.

At some point Rafflesia meets back up with him as he's reading through a historical text, and he can barely see her past the tower of books in her arms.

"Need help with that?" He snorts, and takes about half of the books without waiting for an answer. 

The two of them spend an hour chit chatting as they continue to look around. While lots of things have caught Silas' interest, he doesn't grab any of it. He'd already been bought clothes, which he admittedly needed, despite how much it irritates him to admit such, as well as the tea, which he didn't need at all, but was still given.  
He won't ask for anything else.

Maverick walks into the bookstore with a rigidness to their shoulders, as well as a bag that hadn't been on their arm before. Rafflesia waves them over.

"Something wrong?" She asks.

"Just work. Got a tip that a really nasty son of a bitch is on the move after hiding away for a while. If I want to get them, I need to head out tomorrow." They explain with grit.

Rafflesia looks disappointed for a moment, but the look disappears almost as quickly as it had surfaced on her face. She nods at him understandingly and reaches out to squeeze their hand.

"I'm glad we got to hang out today." She tells him.

Maverick squeezes her hand in return and nods. "Yeah, me too. Oh, and here." He offers her the bag on his arm.

"I got you a new watch since you lost your other one. That way you can grab groceries at the Ark while I'm gone. Wouldn't want you two to go hungry while I'm working." 

Rafflesia doesn't shriek with joy at the purchase, and instead looks bashful. She kicks her sneaker against the floor. 

"I'll be more careful this time. Sorry." She says quietly.

Maverick pulls her into a quick hug. "Don't worry about it. And besides, I know how antsy you get when I'm gone. At least you can show Silas here around the Ark to pass the time."  
She nods and slips the watch over her wrist.

Maverick eyes the books in both Rafflesia's and Silas' arms. "You two find a nice haul?"

He stays quiet, thinking maybe if he doesn't bring up that all of the books were Rafflesia's, Maverick might not pressure him into getting any.

"I did! I don't think he found anything yet." Rafflesia tells them, and Silas internally groans and averts his eyes before Maverick can somehow give him a look without even having a face.

"That so? Guess I'll help hold your books while he does." Maverick takes the books out of Silas' arms and makes a shooing gesture. "Go on, get,"

Silas gives him a flat look before walking off.

When he returns in a shamefully short amount of time, having remembered the exact spot of the books that had caught his eye, Maverick pats his shoulder.

"Much better." They say, sounding pleased.

\--

Being the biggest and also the most stubborn, Maverick holds the heaviest bags as the three of them exit the mall. 

"Still want to check the outdoor market?" They ask.

Truthfully, Silas was exhausted, but if Rafflesia wanted to take a look around still, he wouldn't protest.

Rafflesia surprisingly shakes her head. "Maybe next time! I want to get started on some of these books and its probably time to feed Dandelion again."

When Maverick looks down at him, Silas shakes his head and with a shrug, Maverick gestures for him to get close again so they can beam him up to the ship. Rafflesia beams up first, testing out her new watch, and makes a silly face at the two of them as she disassembles into light.

Back in the control room of the ship, Maverick checks the contents of the bags they're carrying before handing them off. Silas realizes that despite all the stores that had been visited, Maverick had bought nothing for themselves and he immediately feels like shit.

"Why the glum look? You forget something?" They ask him.

He shakes his head. "No, I just realized you didn't get anything for yourself. Was there somewhere you wanted to stop by and we didn't?"

Maverick studies him for a moment, quiet, before laughing a little and ruffling his hair. 

"You're sweet. But nothing caught my eye, if I'm honest. I'm not wanting for much unless its a shiny new gun or a bottle of some good stuff. Sides, seeing you two have fun is good enough for me." They explain breezily. "And you two did have fun, right?"

"Yup!" Rafflesia chimes.

Silas nods and swallows hard. His voice is soft when he speaks. "I did. Thank you- really."

Maverick hums and removes their hand from his hair. "My pleasure. Now, I need to go get my things ready for tomorrow and then I'm hitting the hay. You two scholars have fun with your books."

\--

Maverick is gone by morning and is gone well into the next night. It isn't until the next night, as Silas and Rafflesia are eating dinner on the couch of the common room and watching TV, that they return.  
A loud noise erupts from the control room. It sounded eerily like someone beaming up and then immediately losing balance and slamming into a wall. 

A laugh that sounds mildly embarrassed echoes soon after.

Silas sets his plate down on the table and stands up but finds Rafflesia is already rushing towards the door. It opens before she can press the button.

"Something smells good." Maverick says in greeting. Their steady voice sounds off kilter and their usually vibrant glow is a few watts dimmer. It even flickers here and there, as if a bulb hadn't been twisted all the way in. Whats more glaringly obvious that something is wrong is the sheer amount of blood covering their shirt and jacket, as well the missing left sleeve that's frayed and looks as if it had been set on fire. 

There's a notable lack of a left arm.

What remains of Maverick's left arm is an undulating, wild cloud of the celestial gas that makes up theirs and every Novakid's form.

Silas curses as he rushes over to them. "Are you okay?"

Maverick uses their remaining arm to adjust their hat. The movement makes the blood on their clothes drip onto the floor. There's a steadily growing puddle at their feet.

"Ain't the worst I've had." They tell him nonchalantly. "Don't worry about the blood- its not mine. I don't bleed."

He assumed as much, given their arm had presumably been shot off and there's no flesh or blood slipping off of it.

"Help him to the table." Rafflesia tells him. "I need to go get my things."

Maverick scoffs, mumbling something about not needing any damn help to walk over to the table that's a dozen feet away, but they allow Silas to help them anyways. Once seated, Silas leaves them momentarily to grab cleaning supplies from the kitchen. He gets started on mopping up the blood with disinfectant, all the while staring at Maverick with a worried frown.  
Rafflesia returns with her tablet in arm, along her medical box. She pulls up a chair and sits directly across from him before laying out her tools. 

"Take off your shirt and jacket." Rafflesia tells them. 

Silas politely averts his eyes as they do that and makes his way back to the kitchen for a garbage bag, seeing as how both articles of clothing were ruined with blood and missing sleeves.  
When he returns, Maverick's chest is bare. Its humanoid and featureless like the rest of their form, missing nipples and a naval for obvious reasons. Even without features, there's still a distinct look to the Novakid's chest. Their shoulders and and chest is broad, with the latter tapering down into a lean waist and narrow hips.

Clearing his throat, Silas approaches the table and holds open the garbage bag so Rafflesia can discard the ruined clothes. He ties off the garbage bag and sets it on the floor so he can give the floor a second pass with the mop. The last thing anyone needed was for Dandelion to get blood on her feet and leave tracks everywhere.

Rafflesia holds up the tablet and lets it scan Maverick's chest. 

"There's two bullets lodged into your stomach." She informs him and Maverick hums in agreement.

"Sure feels like it. Any other foreign objects I should know about?"

"No," She says. "But as always I am reassured by your distinct lack of brain."

Silas hears Maverick huff indignantly. "Brains. So old fashioned."

Rafflesia picks up a pair of long tweezers from the medical box as well as a small dish. "You know the drill." 

"Yeah, yeah, any excuse to get inside me." Maverick laughs weakly.

Silas wonders just what the fuck kind of drill this was. He gets his answer immediately.

He watches, enthralled, as the surface tension of Maverick's stomach suddenly breaks away and their waist is reduced to a formless, wavering cloud, much like their destroyed arm. He hears their breathing become extremely labored and hears an outright hiss of pain as Rafflesia reaches into their gut with the tweezers and begins fishing out the bullets.

A metallic tink sounds off when the first bullet is removed. Rafflesia reaches back in for the second and is able to retrieve it within a relatively short amount of time.

"Excellent." She says and sets the dish and tweezers aside. "You can put yourself back together now."

With a deep, deep breath, Maverick's stomach takes back its shape and all the gas returns where it should be. Their color remains dimmer than usual and there's an air of exhaustion that rolls off them, but there's notably no more flickering.

"Your arm shouldn't take more than a day or two to reform." Rafflesia says as she starts putting away things. 

Silas had finished mopping ages ago and now that Maverick wasn't distracted and turns to look at him, he flinches at being caught staring. 

"Hope that wasn't too freaky to watch. Say, is there any food left? I'm starving." They ask.

He nods.  
"Sure you have the stomach for it?" Rafflesia asks with a snort.

"I always got room for a hot meal. And some lead."

\--

Dinner had been steak, (medium rare for everyone else except Rafflesia, who preferred it practically still breathing), beakseed biscuits served with gravy made from the drippings of the steak, and roasted veggies.

Silas pulls out Maverick's portion where he had kept it warmed in the oven just in case they returned that night and looks at it for a second. He's positive they'll like it, but takes into consideration how they might eat the steak with only one arm at their disposal. He goes ahead and cuts the steak into sizable bites.

Walking back into the common room, Maverick is seated as usual in the middle of the couch with their legs propped up and Rafflesia seated to their right. Hearing him approach, Maverick turns to look at him. When they spot the plate of food, they slide their legs off the table.

Silas sets the food down, along with the tropical punch he's poured into a glass. He sets the fork down on top of a napkin.

"You didn't cut my steak." Rafflesia remarks.

He gives her a flat look. "You've got both your arms." 

Maverick picks up their plate and leans back against the couch. "Yeah stop gloating. We don't all have the privilege of having two arms."

Rafflesia sticks her tongue out at him.

Silas could get a start on the dishes that have piled up in the sink, but instead he takes a seat to the left of Maverick and barely pays attention to whats on TV.

He sees them take a bite, and they hum with contentment. "Deeeelicious." They say. "I need to stick around for dinner more often."

The effort to try to contain his pride at that remark is threadbare, so Silas just allows himself to enjoy it and he grins at them. "Glad to hear it."

Maverick pauses in the middle of their next bite and stares at him. Little sparks fly off from their face, and he hopes that isn't like the flickering from earlier.  
Seeming to remember themselves, Maverick looks back towards the TV and continues eating. They don't say a word, but the sparks continue on for a little longer.

"You should stick around for breakfast too." Rafflesia chimes in. "And lunch. Or just in general." Her tone deflates at the end to something downright pitiful.

Maverick considers that. "...I reckon I should, shouldn't I? How about this: I can't promise I'll be around for every meal, but I'll do my best to be around for one of them. How's that sound?"  
By the big smile on Rafflesia's face, its evident she's keen on their suggestion.

\--

Maverick makes good on that compromise for the most part. There were still times that they were gone for days on end, but it was almost rare at this point. 

In the middle of the day, as Silas is preparing sandwiches for lunch, Maverick storms into the kitchen while still in the middle of slipping gloves on and buckling their belt. Seeing as how Silas is in the kitchen more times than not, theres really no reason for them to stop dead in their tracks and stare at him like they're doing now.

"That one of your new shirts?" They ask, pointing at the ombre pullover he's wearing. A tremor of self consciousness hits him.

"Yeah. Do they look okay?" He asks while setting down the knife and wiping his hands on a cloth.

"More than okay. You look real good. The purple really brings out your eyes." They say with zero falter and the palms of Silas' hands feel terribly sweaty.

He mumbles a quiet thank you and continues slicing cured meat for the sandwiches.

Maverick nods, still standing in place, before jolting. "Fuck, what am I doing standing around?" 

He watches them walk over to the basket of fruit on the island and take an apple, which they polish on the sleeve of their jacket before tucking into it. The apple gets dissolved, core and all, as if a laser had sliced through it. Maverick grabs another one for the road.

"Anyhoo, I gotta go. Jobs awaiting." They say.

"If you wait a minute I can get a sandwich ready for you." He offers. Maverick looks at him and then down at their watch. Visibly mulls it over before nodding eagerly.

"I think I can wait a minute."

With as much efficiency as he can muster, Silas gets the sandwich fixed up in almost exactly a minute, thankfully not cutting himself in the rush. He offers it swathed in a bundle of napkins.  
Maverick accepts it eagerly, already taking a bite and moans in an entirely indecent fashion as they taste it.

"Worth the wait." They tell him while rounding the island. The hand not holding the sandwich sets atop his brown hair and ruffles it.

"Thanks a million. I'll be back for dinner, alright? Tell Raff." And with those last words Maverick is jogging out the door of the kitchen, rifle on their back.

\--

The next time Maverick comes running through the kitchen while in a state of undress, Silas quickly sets aside what he's doing to reach into the cupboard behind him. He pulls out a vacuum sealed bag of beef jerky, which he had made days ago, as well as a small container of dried fruits and roasted nuts. 

He offers them out wordlessly.

"You are my beacon of hope." Maverick nearly swoons as they accept the snacks. "A shining light amidst these darkened days. My sunshine." 

Silas feels his entire face flush, but thankfully Maverick has no time to poke fun at him.

"Stay safe." He manages to say just as they leave. 

"Always!" Maverick shouts back in the common room.

\--

After a nasty encounter with a Floran bandit, Maverick is on strict bed rest for a few days. A metal spear had been run through their gut and it had splintered off and left bits and pieces of sharp metal that Rafflesia would need to find with utmost precision.

He wonders why Maverick can dissolve things like food, but bullets and other materials simply remained in their body. He of course doesn't ask.  
Maverick's recovery takes as long as it does because they can only handle both pain and controlling the dynamics of their body for small increments at a time, which forces Rafflesia to work in short intervals multiple times. 

Silas isn't any help when it comes to anything medical, so he stays out of Rafflesia's way and gives her as much energy drinks and coffee as she asks for. If anyone else but a Novakid had gotten an injury such as this, Rafflesia had told them that a strict liquid diet would be given as to not upset their injury. But, seeing as how Maverick lacks any organs and seemingly absorbs their food by instantaneous disintegration, she allows their diet to stay the same.

Silas does, however, ask what Maverick was in the mood to eat each of their three days in bed, well, couch to be exact. For some reason Maverick had wanted to stay on the couch in the common room instead of the bed in their room. He figures they just might want to hang out with Dandelion and them staying on the couch does make bringing them food a lot easier since he doesn't have to carry it up the ladder upstairs.

"Pancakes," Maverick tells him that day. "A whole stack of them. And bacon."

So that's what he makes for breakfast. He makes sure to remember how Rafflesia and Maverick prefer their bacon. Rafflesia isn't awake just yet, as her sleep schedule is out of wack due to frequently checking up on Maverick, so Silas keeps her hefty serving in the oven to stay warm. 

When he sets the plate of food onto the table in front of the couch, Maverick flinches awake from their short nap.

"Didn't think I'd fall back asleep so fast." They yawn, already calmed upon seeing its just Silas. Maverick, shirtless, hatless, and looking almost dull in color was not a sight Silas had gotten used to seeing.  
Without hitch, Maverick scoots up into a seated position and begins to tuck into their food.

"Gonna eat with me?" They ask.

He shrugs. "Sure, let me grab my plate. And a chair."

Maverick, without a tongue or cheeks, blows a raspberry at him. "Plenty of space on the couch. I just need to put my legs on the table."

"I'm not going to have you move around while injured just so I can sit slightly more comfortable than I would in a chair." He frowns.

"Not even if I specifically request it?" Maverick asks, cocking their head to one side. "Would a pretty please and cherry on top convince you?" 

It does and Silas isn't at all happy about it.

Back with his plate of food and drink, Maverick moves their legs carefully off the couch for Silas to take a seat at the end. Maverick seems fine with laying half off the couch, their long legs bent, but it irritates Silas and he uses his right hand to scoop their legs together and settles them on his thighs.

The two of them watch some documentary about animals and the various mutations that can happen, which is slightly off putting to be watching while they eat, but Maverick doesn't seem to care and Silas isn't really watching the show anyways. He can never focus on TV when Maverick is so close by.

It takes no time at all for Maverick to clean their plate and after they set it on the table they stretch out and look obnoxiously blissed out.

Silas can't help the snort that leaves him.

"Sunshine, I think I might have to make you sign a contract so you can't leave us and I can get fat off your cooking til the end of my days." The use of the nickname has increased ever since it had been first uttered into existence, and while mildly embarrassing in general to have such a nickname, its the way Maverick says it just than that really makes Silas' face hot.

It feels good to be told he's good at his job, that he has a reason to be with there on the ship, but its more than that, he knows it.

"That sounds eerily similar to a marriage proposal." He points out.

Maverick chuckles richly. "It does, doesn't it? Well, anyway I can keep you here with me, I'll do it. Even if it takes a shiny ring." 

There's a lot to unpack in that statement, he finds. The pointed use of me, instead of us, catches him off guard like a freight train. The fact Maverick is familiar with marriage ceremonies that involve rings also makes him curious if the Novakid knows a lot of other humans, or is just very familiar with the culture of Earth. He remembers that they're also fluent in Spanish.

It makes him wonder and awful lot about what kind of life Maverick's had; if they've always been a bounty hunter. If the only other company they had up until six months ago when Rafflesia joined was Dandelion. 

He doesn't feel brave enough to ask, not yet, so he pushes those thoughts away. He focuses instead on the obvious fact that despite what his awful brain tells him on a daily basis, that he is in fact wanted here. Its hard to misconstrue what Maverick had said as anything other than enjoyment of himself being here.

Silas doesn't take that lightly.

"I don't plan on leaving anytime soon." He tells them. Its a decision he makes in the moment, but as soon as he says it, Silas feels no regrets. He really doesn't have anywhere else to be, no friends in other star systems to stay with, no family except the one that was buried in Walaim. 

But he doesn't make the decision based on the fact he has no other options; he makes it because in the short two weeks he's been on the ship, he's been treated no less than a dear friend. 

That's something he can't pay back with pixels; maybe not even with words. 

In a much quieter voice, he continues. "...I'd like to stay here for as long as I'm welcome. The second that changes, I'll leave."

When he turns to look at Maverick, he finds that they're already staring at him. Sparks pop off their face like an exposed wire and although its the second time he's seen such a thing happen, Silas still has no idea what emotion it conveys. 

"And if none of us want you to ever leave?" Maverick asks.

He smiles. "Than...For better or for worse, you'll be stuck with me."

Maverick tilts their head back and laughs, really laughs at that, and the rich timbre of it, the unbridled mirth, it gets him laughing too. 

It had only been appropriate to answer a 'marriage proposal' with vows, Silas thinks.


	2. i keep a close watch on this heart of mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes the less you know, the better

-One month later-

Sitting on the couch side by side with Rafflesia, his body practically melded into the soft cushions, Silas realizes without an ounce of dread that the simple action of watching TV with her in the afternoon feels as, if not more, natural than breathing.

This ship isn't home, not quite yet, but its close. Eerily close, in fact, now that a teleporter watch sits on his freckled wrist. He'd received it from Maverick about a week ago, along with a clap on his shoulder, and it was daunting to have something physical that proved that not only was he welcomed, but trusted; trusted enough in fact that he could be left all alone on the ship while Maverick was off working and Rafflesia was at the Ark.

The watch gleams shiny, new and wondrous under the pale light of the common room, the band of it black like obsidian, but much like his phone, speckled with thousands of little flecks that shone in opalescent hues. The clock face of the watch was relatively the same as Rafflesia's, and it read the time and date- which was set to Earth's- and on the side of it were buttons to manually change what star system or planet the flow of time should be calibrated to. The clock face was touch screen and when he pressed the pad of his finger on it for a second or two, he would be beamed up to the ship. Curious, he turns over to Rafflesia.

"How do you beam up with your watch?" He asks and pointedly holds a thumb up to showcase the swirling finger print.

Rafflesia's skin was, after all, completely smooth but also weirdly hard. It lacked hair, much less a finger print. Seeing as how every race that worked on a ship had one of these watches, he assumes that there were ways to work around finger prints and ultimately doubts the human way of activating it was the norm.

"It reads the hardness of my carapace." She tells him. Lifting up her left wrist, Rafflesia demonstrates and presses her thumb against the surface of the watch. Instead of a near instantaneous scan of her finger, he hears the watch beep when a perfect match is found. Seeing as how Rafflesia was already on the ship, she remains where she is instead of dissolving into particles.

"I'm guessing every Floran has a different hardness?" It sounds unbelievably awkward to think those words, let alone speak them aloud.

Rafflesia nods, looking amused, and lowers her hands. "Yep. Like how you humans have different finger prints. As I get older, my carapace will harden more and more, but it'll never be the same as anyone else's."

It shouldn't baffle him as much as it does, given that there were far less Florans working on ships than there were ones down planet in tribes, but to think that each and every one of their identity's were based on something like hardness still takes Silas a minute to accept it.

"And what about Novakids?" He asks. 

Rafflesia opens her mouth, ready to answer, but closes it. She taps her claws on the TV remote and hums.

"No idea. Maybe the brand on Rick's face is read by the watch through his finger?" She doesn't sound too sure, but a Novakid's brand was in fact the distinguishing physical trait that set them apart from each other. It was as good as guess as any, and far better than the thought that maybe the brightness of their glow was what was judged, as Silas had thought briefly.

As if receiving electromagnet waves that someone was talking about him, the two of them hear Maverick beam up in the teleporter room. Neither of them budge an inch, given there was no sound of injury or struggle. 

When Maverick enters the common room and as always, becomes the center of attention of it by merely existing, the Novakid offers a wave.  
"Meant to be back an hour ago." They huff with frustration. Maverick's leather jacket has cobwebs draping on the elbows and shoulders and there's small dead leaves decorating the webs like stars in a constellation. On the knees of their pants, there's mud stains a few shades lighter than the brown of the leather and on the bottom of their boots is a few inches of heel thats completely made from caked mud. 

Seeming to notice the tracks they were leaving inside the ship, Maverick reaches down and carefully slips one foot out of each boot before setting them by the door to be cleaned later. 

"Why the rush?" He asks. Lunch wouldn't be made until another hour or so and Maverick had said they'd be back for dinner, not lunch, anyways.

Rafflesia slips off the couch and approaches Maverick, who's taken off their hat to dust off the cobwebs and debris.

"Got somewhere to be." Maverick says. Rafflesia picks cobwebs off him carefully with her clawed fingers and shakes her hands until the wispy material slips off and falls to the floor with the mud.

"And where's that?" Rafflesia asks.

"Its a secret, but-"

Settling their hat back on their head, Maverick raises one hand and with far more dramatics than necessary, slowly points a finger down at Rafflesia before dragging it in the air to point at where Silas is still seated. "-you two are coming with. So go get dressed."

Within the blink of an eye, Rafflesia has turned on heel and made a run for the kitchen, her excited footsteps echoing like the banging of a drum. Meanwhile, Silas remains on the couch, suddenly locked into a one sided staring match with Maverick.

"Am I not dressed enough?" He gestures towards the beige pullover and black jeans he's wearing.

Maverick crosses their arms and crooks their head to the side as they look at him with an air of consideration.

"If you don't want to, its no big deal. You look just fine in those." They tell him. "But, I'm of the thinking one of those button up shirts that I've yet to see you in would look downright dashing on you."

The large part of Silas' brain that is equal parts lazy as it is self conscious and unwilling to think too much of his own appearance is at odds with each other just than. If Maverick and Rafflesia were going to go through the effort of changing into something a little nicer than usual, he thinks that, even if it makes him uncomfortable, he should at least brush his hair and put on a fresh shirt.

"Purple or blue?" He asks and stands up. 

"Purple- its brings out the green of your eyes." 

He hums in affirmation in a way that's choked and not at all casual and doesn't force himself to make anymore noises than that before he heads to the bedrooms.

\--

Now that the reigns had been given back to him and he could begin shaping his life back into something real, Silas admires the changes he's made in his bedroom as he's walking into it. Once spartan and dusty, his room now looks like someone actually lives in it. On his desk is a small collection of things Maverick has brought back from their ventures down various planets; an amber sample, void of any small insects or bits of plants, which glows warmly as the lamp casts its light on it. Next to it, glittering like thousands of stars in the night sky, is a geode, split in half to reveal beautifully blue minerals inside.  
Much less eye catching than the other two things, is a small fern fossil, one that is remarkably intact after hundreds of thousands of years. All of these things are set in a neat row in a glass display.

Sometimes, he gets the urge to take them out to study them, to run his palm over the smooth amber or drag the tip of one finger across the craggy, almost sharp innards of the geode. The fear of somehow damaging these gifts, and they were gifts, he reminds himself, stays his hand.

Maverick hadn't been the only one to give him things to fill up his room. Under a miniature UV light on the left corner of his desk is a row of budding potted plants.

"To liven things up a bit." Rafflesia had said with a smile while handing him the potted plants that looked suspiciously like the flower growing on the crown of her head. Whether that same flower died and regrew on a regular basis or there were more flowers growing on her somewhere under all the layers of pajamas, he hadn't asked. Silas had made sure to thank her, which had sparked into her to giving even more plants, as next to the flower is now a mini cactus and an oculemon bonsai.

If or when the first oculemon is produced, Silas makes a promise to himself to make her a glass of lemonade with it- even if the serving may not be any larger than what could fit in a thumble. He realizes that might actually be the perfect size for her.

Shaking his head, a small smile on his face, Silas walks over to his wardrobe in the back of the room and quickly grabs the purple button up. He shrugs off his pullover and tosses it in the plastic laundry bin by the bathroom. He doesn't spare even a nanosecond before slipping on the button up and quickly closing it. 

He's gained muscle and fat, he can feel it, but unlike coming to terms with the fact this ship was now home, Silas is far less eager to come to terms with his own body and he isn't sure if that will ever change.  
With expertise, Silas walks into the bathroom and brushes his hair without needing to look in the mirror, which is covered with a cloth as usual. Usually, he styles his hair with the majority of it loose and spilling past his shoulders, but with some of it tied up in a ponytail. Its how Rigel, his grandfather, had worn their hair.

Thinking of Rigel, Silas eyes the crates that had been salvaged from his crew's ship. The two crates sit in the corner of his room, isolated. 

He drags his eyes away from them and swallows down the feeling that rises from his gut and claws its way up his throat. Taking a deep breath, he decides on just tying up the entirety of his hair in a high pony tail and just getting it over with.

He exits his room and doesn't look back.

\--

Silas is the first back to the common room and he notices the mud on the floor has already been cleaned, so he settles with sitting back on the couch and staring at the TV, not at all absorbing any of what is on. The fog of death and anxiety that clings to him like a ghost is a little stronger than usual as he can't help but think of the past now that he's acknowledged it.  
It dawns on him as he sits alone on the couch that his life, for the most part, has been filled with death.

Sure, the circumstances varied, but the realization still hits him deep and leaves Silas feeling unsteady. His parents had never been apart of his life, having both past away when he was far too young to even have any feelings in regards to them. Rigel had shown him pictures, had told him that they were both scientists and were very much in love with eachother, but whenever Silas had looked at the holograms and framed pictures of his parents, he felt nothing.

At the ripe age of seventy-five, Rigel had past away. His grandfather had died in their sleep; looking peaceful when Silas had walked into their room to wake them up. Seeing them like that- it felt like an intrusion. Rigel had been moody and prideful and so whip smart it was almost frightening and to see them lying in bed, still...Well, it felt both like kindess and an insult, if Silas was honest.  
That had been when he was twenty and it wasn't until a year or two after Rigel's death that Silas had finally found another place to fit himself into, but his time on the ship with Petra, Nemoy, Curie, Salim and Nadia hadn't lasted nearly as long as his time with his grandfather.

Another chapter in his life closed with the end credits of death. How long will he be able to stay here, with Maverick and Rafflesia, before this chapter ended as well?

A cold sweat breaks out over his skin and Silas covers his face with both hands and reminds himself firmly that he shouldn't be thinking about any of this, but now that he's made eye contact with the proverbial beast that is his grief and anxiety, he finds it almost impossible to look away.

Its with great relief that the cushion next to him moves with the sudden added weight and when a clawed hand settles on his elbow, Silas flinches away from his thoughts.

"Are you okay?" Rafflesia asks him. Her outfit gives him something to focus on as he tries to slink out of his gloomy head space like a shedding of skin. She's wearing a poofy, many layered dress that's the color of cherry blossoms. The sleeves are long and just as airy, but cinch at the wrists. The fabric of the dress ends just above her knees and he sees she's wearing chunky sandals, of which have little plastic wings on one side of each heel.

Sliding his hands completely off his face, instead of peeking through his partition of fingers like a creep, he offers her a shaky nod.

"I'm fine. Really." He tells her. "You look cute; like a fairy."

Rafflesia eyes him for a moment longer, but ultimately blinks away whatever concern she has and gives him the mercy of looking appreciative of his compliment instead of further prodding at his obviously pained expression.

He thinks of the towel hanging over his bathroom mirror, how she too, had refrained from speaking on it when noticing it.

"I don't know what that is, but thanks." She takes her hand off his elbow and moves it to gently pull at his pony tail. "Your hair looks nice like this. Why don't you wear it like this more often?"

Because becoming anymore aware of what he looks like will make him ill, probably, Silas thinks. He feels like a bundle of bones held together by sand and sheer stubbornness.

He shrugs instead of voicing any of that.

"Well, your usual hair style is good too." She tells him with a small smile. 

A sharp whistle sounds from the door of the kitchen. Turning their heads, they see Maverick entering the common room.

"I've got a real attractive crew. You two don't pull any punches, do you?" Maverick says with obvious pride. Maverick wears a crisp blue western styled button up, the shoulders adorned with black yokes and at the collar of the shirt is bolo tie, the strings dark brown and the centerpiece a shiny silver disk that has a rusty red gem inlaid in the center. The shirt is tucked into charcoal saddle pants and starting from the knee down to their toes, are a pair of dark brown boots.

A hat, relatively the same as all the others they wear- dark brown with a sturdy brim, sits atop Maverick's head. Without a jacket, Silas wonders where Maverick's pistol is.

Rafflesia delights at his compliment and makes a point to stand up from the couch to do a twirl. Her dress swirls like puffs of clouds.

"We have to match our captain's standards." She tells them and Maverick glows a little brighter and adjusts their hat with flourish.

When Maverick walks over to the couch and looks Silas up and down, their hands on their hips, Silas wishes he could sink into the couch, through the floor, down the metal innards that made the ship and drift off somewhere in the void of space.

"You look good." Maverick remarks. "Real good." And one of the hands on their hips moves towards Silas, but stops. Maverick clears their throat. "Anyhoo, lets mosey."

\--

Maverick beams the three of them down to a planet in the Keter Expanse star system, one that is all sprawling cities, filled mostly with humans, but there's a few other races peppered in here and there. If Silas had thought the mall on Lilith IV was bursting with people, this planet was filled to the brim to the point of spillover. The city they're is probably how all the cities on this planet look- towering buildings, the tops of which are slightly marred by the clouds they cut into, apartment buildings, malls, restaurants, and hundreds of other places all cramped together.

Its a weird mixture of light and dark, as the frighteningly tall buildings block out the light from the sun and cast shadows as dark as pitch over lots of spots. To combat the darkness, there are almost as many lights as there are people walking around. Neon signs, electric build boards, street lamps, illuminated walkways- the only real shadow that persisted were in alley ways or in corners.

Surprisingly, the noise and the people seem to even bother Rafflesia this time, as she instinctively stands closer to Maverick.

Sensing her nervousness like a sudden change in the wind, Maverick looks down at her. "I know its overwhelming, but the restaurant we're going to is only a short walk."

Rafflesia doesn't budge an inch.

Humming in thought, Maverick bends down and offers his back. "Here, how about this?"

Rafflesia climbs onto his back immediately, careful of her dress, and when Maverick straightens she looks vastly more comforted now that she's able to see above the crowd.

Maverick turns towards him. "You too." Silas hears them say and he gets ready to cuss at them not to pick him up, but finds that all they do is sling an arm around his shoulders and pull him in closer. "Now neither of you have to worry about getting lost." 

It must be uncomfortable having one arm behind their back to keep Rafflesia steady and the other slung on his shoulders, but Maverick doesn't look bothered at all. If anything, the Novakid looks at home amidst the excess people, lights and noise. He wonders where home is for them- a planet just like this, filled with so many humans it'd be difficult not to pick up on their culture?

Maverick doesn't weave through crowds as much as they simply cut a path for themselves. Its impressive to see people just move out of the way with barely a blink or a fuss. It probably has more to do with the fact Maverick is six and a half feet tall than it does being an extremely rare race.

Silas thinks he could enjoy this planet, if only he could still time.

After several minutes of walking, Maverick gestures with a jut of their chin towards a hole in the wall in between a dozen establishments on either side.

"There's the place." They say. 

The place, the restaurant, Silas remembers them saying, stands out only by the warm yellow lights that emits from the red paper lanterns that hang from a string off the red tiled roof that hangs over the patio to shield from the weather. Other than a few stone statues and some bushes, there isn't much to see.

Maverick bends down and lets Rafflesia slide off his back before walking over to the paper screen door and sliding it back with a gloved hand. Just as Rafflesia and Silas are slipping into the restaurant, Maverick's watch starts beeping.

"I'll be just a second." 

Inside, Silas finds that while the restaurant is ornately decorated with fine wooden floors, porcelain vases and antique paintings, it still feels like he's walked inside of someone's home instead of a place to eat.

A large fish tank is sat against a wall with all kinds of fish and its the first thing Rafflesia goes after. The restaurant has booths lined up on the left side, and in the middle are the tables. To the right, is the bar, which has a TV hanging on a wall for watching, and behind a beaded curtain is presumably the kitchen.

Just as he's eyeing a porcelain family of cat figurines, the beaded curtains rustle and a woman slips out from the kitchen. She's human and looks to be in her late thirties and is dressed in a white form fitting t-shirt and extremely baggy red sweatpants. There's a long, ornate looking pipe in her hand that she puffs from. From a single brown eye, as the other is covered with a black eye patch, the woman regards them polite, but firm.

"Welcome," She says. "Go and sit anywhere you like. I'll be with you in just a moment."

When Silas thanks her, she nods, and the movement makes the tight bun of black hair on the top of her head jostle just the smallest amount. She taps the pipe on an ashtray behind the bar and slips back into the kitchen just as Maverick slips into the restaurant.

"Where do you want to sit?" Rafflesia asks him, and then repeats the question as Maverick walks over, still fussing with their watch.

"You can choose, Raff. Bar, booth, table- whatever." Maverick hums, distracted, in the middle of swiping away all the screens displayed from their watch.

Rafflesia picks a booth. She takes a seat first and pats the empty seat next to her and stares at Silas until he sits down.

"Something up with work?" Rafflesia asks as Maverick slides into the other side of the booth.

"Nah. Just going to be busy the next week. You two gonna be alright if I make myself scarce?"

They will, as always, but that doesn't stop the put out look Silas sees saddle onto Rafflesia's face.

"Aren't there any other bounty hunters?" She asks.

Silas feels Maverick try to cross one leg over the other underneath the table and subsequently everyone feels their knee bang into the table. With an annoyed huff, Maverick sits up straighter in their seat to accommodate their height. 

"There's others, but none that work in the same organization as me." Maverick answers while crossing their arms. "Well, its hard to call it an organization when its really just me and the fella that keeps everything running."

Silas frowns. "Did this guy just start it up or something?"

"The organizations been around for a bit, but well," Maverick unlaces their crossed arms and brings one up to rub at the back of their neck uncomfortably. "All the people who joined when it was founded are dead."

It becomes incredibly tense in the booth. 

Rafflesia blinks a few times at Maverick, before looking down at the table and studying her clawed fingers.

Maverick groans. "Let's not talk about it, alright? We're supposed to be celebrating." They reach out and pat her arm.

"What are we celebrating?" Silas asks, slipping his left hand over Rafflesia's in hopes of cheering her up.

"You, of course. Well, you being with us, I should say. Its been a month, hasn't it?" Maverick says to him.

"Yeah. I didn't think anyone was counting."

That breaks Rafflesia out of her funk and she's suddenly squeezing his hand. "Of course we were!" 

Maverick looks immensely relieved that the rain cloud has left Rafflesia and leans back against their seat and relaxes. One of their long legs inches closer until the table to playfully knock against Silas'.  
"I did something like this when Raff joined too- so don't feel put on the spot." They tell him.

The sound of beads rustling together grabs everyone's attention and when the woman slips out of the kitchen, two menus in her arms, she stills when her singular dark eye catches on Maverick, who offers a wave.

"Longtime no see, Vega."

The woman, Vega, finishes her beeline over to the booth. The harsh features of her face soften minutely.

"And who's fault is that?" She reprimands. "Usually, when I offer someone free meals they make it a point to show up everyday." She flicks the brim of Maverick's hat. "But you, on the other hand, don't show up until months later. What, you think my food isn't good or something?"

Maverick dismisses that accusation with a wave of their hand. "I think your foods damn good- I just hate eating alone."

Vega considers that, taking a glance at Rafflesia and Silas, before shrugging. "Fair enough. I am glad to see you have other people to keep you company. I was afraid you'd get shot and left in a ditch somewhere." 

"Wouldn't be my first time." Slips from Maverick, who winces and ducks their face into their collar when two pairs of eyes across the booth glare at him. They clear their throat. "So how's business been treating you?"

Vega offers one of the menus to Maverick before offering the other to Rafflesia and Silas to share. "Better, despite how it must look right now. This place fills up at night now that I don't have to worry about people shooting up the place."

The menu in Silas' hand is a startlingly thin tablet. It feels like holding a pane of glass in his hands and when he leans it towards the left so Rafflesia can read it properly, he gets worried when her clawed fingers trace over the screen.

"Good, good. Any other trouble I should know about?" He hears Maverick ask. "I've got a full plate, but I can always take care of any issues here first."

"There's always trouble, as cliche as that sounds." Vega sighs. "This city isn't bad, but with so many people its just a matter of math that some of them would be assholes. But I'll give you the information I have later- after you and your friends eat your fill."

Rafflesia decides on various kinds of sashimi and a glass of reef juice and Silas picks dumplings with a side of fried veggies and some iced tea.

"Just some pork ramen." Maverick says. "Oh, and can you add those eggs in it? The ones with the half runny yolk?"

Vega nods as she punches things down on her own tablet. "And to drink? I've got that sake you liked last time."

"Sure, some of that too."

With another nod, Vega leaves the booth and heads back to the kitchen.

"How do you two meet?" Rafflesia asks.

"I cam to this planet looking for clues on a bounty. Didn't find any, but I did find two gangs having a turf war in the middle of the street- except they couldn't keep the fight in the streets and started messing up this fine establishment." Maverick explains.

"So you took care of them and now you get free food whenever you visit?" He asks them.

"Basically. Now can we stop talking about my job for five minutes? I've been meaning to ask you," And Maverick shifts their attention solely onto Silas. "-what did you want for your one month of being with us? I made Raff a UV lamp for her bed and made some other stuff for her room."

Silas seats an elbow on the table and rests his cheek in his cupped palm. "Should I assume that as usual, me saying I don't want anything will do fuck all?"

"Most definitely."

He kicks their foot underneath the table. "Fine. A bookshelf. A big one."

\--

The day after, Maverick departs for work with barely a wave or whisper, which is nothing new, but it adds a bad taste in Silas' mouth for reasons he's yet to fully translate. When one day of being gone turns into two, Silas doesn't feel there's any need to worry, given Maverick's current record of being away was three days. But when day three comes and there's no sign of them beaming up, anxiety starts to gnaw the marrow of his egg shell fragile calm. 

In Maverick's absence, Rafflesia clings to him like glue; it doesn't matter what menial task he's doing, whether it was cleaning the kitchen, folding his laundry, or writing a grocery list- she was there. He doesn't mind, not at all, not when she shuffles so gloomily around the ship like a moon out of orbit from its planet.

But there is something he wants to tend to in absolute solitude, so Silas waits until that night when Rafflesia has gone to bed to retreat to his own room. He makes sure to lock the door a second after he enters his bedroom.

There, ostracized in the corner across from where his bed is, are the two crates he's been avoiding. As much as Silas had been waiting for an opportunity alone to dig through them, he'd also been waiting for the moment he'd feel ready enough to even do so- but truthfully, he doesn't think that moment will ever come. 

He walks over to the crates with the same trepidation he would approaching a sleeping predator. Taking a seat on the cold floor in front of it, he inspects them. The crates are about the size of a brief case and made out of durasteel, which had once been shiny, but was now coated in dried salt from the ocean and left the metal dull and flat. 

There's no telling what part of the ship these crates were salvaged from; it would break his heart to find something as mundane as equipment or supplies. Bracing himself for disappointment, Silas drags the first crate over and starts to unlock all the mechanisms that kept the crate safe from water. With the last one done, the crate hisses out air and pops open. 

Flipping up the top, Silas takes a look at whats inside. Immediately, he knows it isn't one of the crates from his old bedroom. An extremely polished set of throwing knives are delicately wrapped in a bundle of fabric, along with a portable whetstone. Next to it, a small stack of hologram disks and a velvet box that's longer than it is wide. Taking a peek inside, he sees a chain necklace made out of titanium lain out on soft padding. Slipping his hand under the necklace, he picks it up and admires it.

By the throwing knives, Silas knows that this crate was probably found in Salim's room, but since he's never once seen them where the necklace in his hand, he wonders if this was meant as a gift for someone. He can't recall any birthdays coming up back then- maybe it was just something Salim had bought for themselves for special occasions. He sets the necklace back inside its box and sets it aside.  
What takes up most of the space in the crate are books of varying sizes and genres. He recognizes one of them that Salim had let him borrow and picks it up. He thumbs through the pages fondly, conversations playing in his head like a record, but when something falls out from between the pages, Silas looks down. 

On his lap is a photo he'd been using as a bookmark when Salim had lent him the book. 

The picture had been taken on someone's birthday, he thinks Petra's, and the whole crew is seated in the common room, some on the couch, some standing behind it. Petra sits at the center, looking like royalty. On her right is Salim, and on her left, himself. Nemoy is settled onto his lap, their yellow eyes like little lanterns as they stare up at the camera.

Standing behind the couch, is Curie and Nadia, who've got an arm around eachother and are grinning the brightest out of all of them.

"You've got to smile more." He remembers Curie telling him. "You look like some miserable old man half the time."

"And the other half?" He'd asked.

Curie had punched him in the arm and laughed. "Like an asshole. But, hey, most of us are. Maybe you're just really good at fitting in."

Silas isn't, usually, and back then he had wanted to tell her that; that most people were either uninterested in him or rubbed the wrong way by his temper. He had wanted to tell her that maybe she wasn't as much as an asshole as she claimed to be, that she was in fact one of the nicest people he's ever met.

That Curie had made him feel welcome and made sure that the others did too. He hopes she knew just how much he appreciated it, if not from the words he never said, but from his actions- from the quiet moments they spent together.

It's no shock that his throat feels constricted and his eyes prickle with tears. The funny thing about reminiscing? About looking back? Even the bad times don't seem so bad. Silas remembers even the nasty arguments he'd been both the source of and the solution to with startling fondness. 

"One of these days, you're going to say something you'll regret. And I mean keep-you-up-at- night kind of regret." Petra had said over late night coffee while Silas had been brooding at one of the tables.  
"I meant every word." He had spit.

"I don't doubt that." Petra hummed and grabbed an extra cup of coffee. She had walked over to the table Silas was at and offered it.

"My point is, although you may have meant it in that moment, will you have meant it the next day? A week later?"

He remembers taking the coffee and burning his tongue on it and using that as an excuse to offer no response to those too wise words.

\--

Silas startles awake to the sound of arguing.

"Goddamnit, Raff, just get to the point already!" Maverick's shout echoes from the hall. 

"My point is that you are reckless- more than usual. You've had more close calls in the past month than the entirety of the time I've known you. You leave for days on end, hardly telling anyone where you'll be, and if you died out there-" Rafflesia's voice does this terrible crack.

"None of us would even know where to remotely start looking for you. You understand that's fucked up, yes?" 

Silas swallows hard, adrenaline pulsing through him, and he slips out of bed and hovers in front of his door.

"What do you want me to do?" He hears Maverick ask, and there's an obvious slur to it. "You never had a problem with how I operated myself before."

"I did. I always have! I just didn't say anything." 

Something like a scoff or a huff follows that. "So why are you saying it now?"

"Because you were never this bad before!" Rafflesia hisses. "Yes, you've always been reckless, yes, you've always drank a lot. But now its like you're actively trying to get yourself killed. I won't be quiet about it." 

Maverick must mumble something petulant, because instead of arguing the hallway is now filled with the sounds of hissing, cursing and the sound of two people fighting.

Silas slams the button of the door to his room open and steps into the hall. He's greeted by the sight of Maverick on the ground, one of his gloved hands shoving Rafflesia away by her face. Rafflesia herself is sitting on top of their stomach and raking her claws against his front.

"What the fuck do you two think you're doing?" Silas demands hotly, nearly close to shouting as well. He isn't sure if its the pitch of his voice or just himself being there to witness this bullshit that makes the two of them push off each other like same sided magnets.

Maverick stands up with a noticeable wobble, like a great big tree about to be felled, and curses up a storm as they look down at their clothes. The front of their shirt is torn to ribbons and there's claw marks on one side of their leather jacket.

"Nothing at all." Maverick tells him. 

Rafflesia remains where she is on the floor, her black eyes glued to the floor and says nothing.

When Silas walks closer to them, the smell of whiskey wafts off Maverick in nauseating waves. He scowls.

"Are you going somewhere like that?" He asks.

Maverick's face snaps up from his clothes to look at him. "Like what? And yeah, I've got a job waiting for me." They turn around towards the ladder leading downstairs, but Silas walks up to them and catches them with one hand.

"No you don't." Underneath his hold, Silas feels them stiffen. "Not anymore. You just came back and you aren't leaving this ship while you're drunk."

Maverick huffs an incredulous laugh. "Yeah, sure, tell it to the wind, pal." And they shrug out of his grip.

Silas quickly walks in front of them and blocks them from the ladder. He glares at them, wishing they would go ahead and push their luck. He knows Maverick is strong enough to just lift him and put him out of the way.

Maverick stares down at him for a long time, mood unreadable aside from their tense shoulders and clenched fists.

"Fine." They say eventually. "Fine. I won't leave. But I ain't staying in these rags and I ain't going to keep standing in this hall. So, am I allowed to go to my room, sir?" 

Brushing away the urge to punch their hat clean off their head, Silas moves away and gives them space to walk angrily to their room, which he can see from the brief moment its open, is entirely void of light.  
When the door closes and Maverick is gone, Silas turns his attention to Rafflesia, who hasn't moved an inch. He exhales sharply through his nose as he sees her examining the fabric of Maverick's shirt stuck in her claws. Florans lack tear ducts, but by the wet, huffing sounds she's making and the shaking of her shoulders, it would take a blind person to not realize she's crying.

He kneels on the floor and puts a hand on her shoulder. "Come on, lets go to the kitchen. I'll make you something nice."

She shakes her head furiously. "No. No, I need to say sorry! I hurt him!" She quickly peels the fabric off her claws and starts standing up.

"Not a good idea, Raff." He tells her. "He needs to calm down and so do you."

Her attention switches from Maverick's door to Silas' face.

"But he must be hurt! I was trying to hurt him!" 

It definitely seemed like that was her goal. But when he had taken a look at Maverick, all he saw was torn clothes. He isn't sure how things like scratches and scrapes affect Novakids, but he's sure if it had actually made damage than some celestial gas would have been leaking out.

"You only hurt his clothes, which he might be more upset about than if you did actually hurt him." He says.

Rafflesia sags with relief, but only for a second as something dawns on her. "If you hadn't come in, I would have-" Her breathing starts to come out unevenly.

Silas interrupts that line by pulling her into a tight hug. 

"Whether or not I came in, I know you would have stopped." 

Rafflesia wiggles out of his hug to look up at him. "How can you be sure?"

He isn't, but Silas thinks if Rafflesia is to believe she is capable of stopping herself in the future, he needs to give her the foundation to do so. If no one believed in her, why should she believe in herself?

"I just am." He says without hesitation. "Now come on, lets go to the kitchen. I'll make you hot chocolate. A warm drink always helps."

She looks like she wants to ask how he's sure of that too, but says nothing and follows after him down the ladder.

Rafflesia doesn't sit on the counter like she has been the past couple of days whenever Silas is in the kitchen and instead she takes a seat on one of the stools and leans forward to rest her arms, which she then uses to cradle her face. Her dark eyes look anywhere but at him.

Silas walks over to the fridge and pulls out some milk and then to one of the cabinets where he pulls out a saucepan, a bar of high grade chocolate, a single pod of vanilla bean, and a wooden spatula. He turns the stove on and gets the milk heating. When he pulls out a sharp knife and starts to expertly chop the chocolate bar into fine shards, he isn't surprised when he looks up and sees Rafflesia watching.  
He slids the tip of the knife down the vanilla bean and scrapes out the black, fragrant center before slipping that, as well as the chocoalte, into the milk.

"Did you want to talk about it?" He asks when there's nothing left to do but stir the milk occasionally.

"...No." Rafflesia answers. "But I should. I told you I'm a pacifist, right? Well, trying to be." 

He nods.

"Its a lot harder than I thought it would be. I'm sure you know about Floran culture; how violent it is. It really isn't even a culture, just some...amalgamation of bloodshed and stolen tech from other races." She explains with disgust.

"I've been trying to be different. I want to be different. But the culture I was raised with, the tribe I was raised in, its still extremely present."

"No one becomes a pacifist over night." He tells her.

She hums in agreement. "True. But its been six months since I left my tribe and I'm afraid that I haven't made much improvement. Its easy to call myself a pacifist when I don't really interact with many people and I get into arguments even less. I don't think hiding away and avoiding conflict means I've improved. I've just made sure there are less opportunities for tests in my resolve."

She sits up with a sigh. Examines her clawed fingers. 

"I should not have reacted like I did. Do you think I was too harsh with the captain? About his drinking?" She asks.

"Not at all. Yeah, you shouldn't have been getting physical, but telling him that he was being a jackass was completely warranted." He says. "In fact, I'm glad you called him out on it. It means you're a good friend, one that won't just let the people they care about hurt themselves."

Her features soften at that and Rafflesia mumbles a thanks.

"But," Silas continues. "If he's been like this for a while, you can't expect him to suddenly stop. Nothing happens overnight, right? I haven't met many alcoholics in my life, but no one drinks like that for no reason."

Maverick rarely got drunk like they were now, but the shiny flask of theirs was always on hand and the Novakid could be seen stealing sips from it a dozen times throughout the day no matter the hour. It would be naive to assume they didn't do the same when they were out on jobs either.

"This isn't an excuse for him, either." Silas clarifies. "I just want to point out that there's probably an underlying issue we don't know about- that if we want him to talk to us about it, we have to be patient. And we can do that without enabling him or letting him self destruct."

"It sounds easy when you say it like that." She says.

Silas hums and stirs the simmering hot chocolate a few more times before killing the heat and moving the saucepan onto one of the other eyes. 

"Its always easy to talk about someone else's problems." He says. He grabs three mugs from the cupboard, but only fills up two. He slides one across the counter towards Rafflesia and warns her to wait a minute before taking a sip.

"What made you decide on being a doctor, let alone a pacifist?"

"Its a long story."

One that she isn't comfortable with sharing, Silas picks up on. He simply nods and walks over to take a seat next to her with his own cup of hot chocolate.

"Its okay." She says. "I don't mind. Its...good to speak about these things out loud. It airs out the mind; makes it easier to talk about it the next time."

He wishes he himself had that kind of bravery.

Rafflesia clinks her claws against her mug. "The tribe I was raised in was identical to lots of others, if not all of them. We were warriors first, scavengers second. We preyed on the weak and took trophies back to prove we had done such horrible deeds. Its a way of living that makes you paranoid- you could never truly trust anyone, never even another tribe member, as duels or trials were always a possibility."  
"If you got on someone's bad side or someone simply didn't like you, it was their right to challenge you and if you died, well, you deserved it." She explains.

"Despite all of that, I was still still afraid of pain. Of dying. I knew that made me weak and once I knew I was weak, it was like everyone else could sense it. I hesitated when I had to fight. I didn't show off trophies or boast about kills. It was too easy to imagine myself in someone else's place so it became more and more difficult to pass myself off as a warrior.

"There's no hiding weakness, which bred uselessness, and so I received a challenge from the leader of my tribe. I lost, of course and it was her right to kill me. But I ran." Rafflesia takes a tentative sip from her hot chocolate.

"Running away is worse than dying, at least to my tribe. I was not only weak, but a coward. But I didn't care- I had nothing to prove to them so what was the point of letting myself die? Somehow, and to this day I still don't know how, I was able to escape. Sure, I was half dead and bleeding out, but I still managed it. I ran for days.

"Eventually, I found an abandoned house. I hid there so I could attempt to patch myself back together while I figured out what my next step would be. Every moment I was scared the door would be kicked down and my tribe would finally find me. The feeling of living in constant fear only worsened. Many times, I wondered if it would have just been easier to have let my leader kill me, if only not to feel this horrible feeling anymore.

"When a big storm rolled in, I knew I would be safe from being found for at least another day or two. I relaxed a little and finally slept uninterrupted for the first time since I had ran off. But I was wrong. I woke up to the door's lock being shot off and someone entering."

Rafflesia's black eyes twinkle and her sharp mouth raises in the corner in a smile.

"A pink Novakid, hefting the biggest rifle I'd ever seen waltzed in drenched from the rain. He spotted me and just stood there for a moment. He probably wondered about all the blood on the floor, because he asked me if I was going to kick the bucket or not."

Silas snorts at that.

"I demanded to know if anyone had seen him head this way, but Rick said that no one was around since the weather was shit. He asked if he could have shelter from the storm in return for medical supplies. I of course agreed, but I was suspicious. I told him that once the storm left he needed to leave; that people were looking for me and he was in danger.

"He simply asked how many," She laughs. "My tribe, minus myself, had eleven other Florans. He didn't seem bothered and just asked if they were the ones that hurt me. I explained my story to him like I'm doing for you now.

"I thought he would leave after, but he didn't, not even when I threatened him. He just laughed in my face and told me to shut up and started digging inside his backpack. He pulled out an alarming amount of dynamite and asked if I wanted him take care of them."

"Did you? Ask him to do that, I mean." Silas asks.

"No." She answers. "It might not have been the right choice, leaving them alive to continue murdering whatever vulnerable person stumbled across them, but if I had asked Maverick to kill them all, would I then have to ask him to search out for the millions of other Florans who lived the same way and kill them too?"

Genocide wasn't something Silas had thought he would be discussing that morning. 

"I don't know if it was the right choice or not." He tells her seriously. "But its the choice you made in the situation you were given and I don't think anyone can fault you for that. Sure, your tribe will more than likely continue on what they've been doing, but maybe the fact you escaped, alive, will inspire others there that they can leave too, if they try."

Rafflesia considers that as she sips her drink. "It'd be nice if even only one other person made the decision like I did. I know there's lots of Florans out there like me who want a different lifestyle, so maybe it isn't too far fetched. And, well, they wouldn't be able to change if they were all dead."

"True. So you asked Maverick not to kill them- what happened after?" He asks.

"Probably similar to what happened to you when you met him." She says. "He asked if I had anywhere to go, and when I said I didn't, he said I could tag along with him for however long I wanted. I felt I had to repay him and the people I had killed over the years, so I made up my mind to become a pacifist and started studying to become a doctor."

She looks down suddenly. "I know that doesn't change the fact that I was just as much as a killer as my tribe, and I won't blame you if you looked at me differently after this, but I am sincere about wanting to do good things."

Silas bumps their shoulders together. "I don't think less of you and I don't hate you; I just understand you more now. That probably doesn't mean much since we haven't known each other that long, but I mean it anyways."

She shakes her head. "I think it actually means more to me because we haven't known each other for long."

Silas can understand that. For a while its quiet between them. There's some guilt pooling in his gut for having Rafflesia tell her story but not sharing his own, but it still feels too soon to repeat any of it.  
In the future, however far into it, he likes to think he'll be able to share his story with her.

After the two of them finish their drinks, Silas makes some sandwiches. Its been about an hour since the argument, so Silas turns to Rafflesia.

"Do you think you can ask Maverick to come down?"

Rafflesia blinks at him owlishly, before nodding and sliding off her stool and walking out of the kitchen. He isn't sure if she'll come right back or if she'll need time to talk with Maverick, so Silas keeps the remainder of the hot chocolate on low so it doesn't get cold.

Twenty minutes pass before the door to the kitchen opens again. Maverick walks in, notable wearing different clothes and while there's still an underlying smell of whiskey on them, it isn't at all overwhelming. Rafflesia trails behind them like a shadow, not exactly jumping for joy, but her shoulders look less slumped and her eyes have the usual twinkle in them.

Silas washes his hands and juts his chin over to the direction of the common room.

"Foods on the table." He says.

Maverick nods, mumbling a thanks, and heads towards the common room. Rafflesia follows after, but stops to give Silas a big grin, before slipping out the kitchen. When he himself walks out, he sees Maverick and Rafflesia in their usual spots. He doesn't feel at all awkward for seeing them like this, not anymore, and he walks into the room and takes his seat on the left cushion of the couch wordlessly.  
Maverick's plate has already been cleared, with not a single crumb on their fresh shirt. A few minutes into eating his own sandwich, Maverick lifts their left arm and slips around his shoulders and keeps it there. 

"I'm sorry. Something like this- it won't happen again." They say quietly.

Swallowing his bite, Silas leans into the half embrace. "I know."

No one says anything else as all three of them watch the TV.

\--

Maverick announces when, where and how long they'll be when they leave for jobs now. The flask is left behind in the kitchen as a promise to stay sober while the Novakid's off apprehending criminals and while sure, its the first thing they grab for when they get back, there's no denying that progress is being made. They even buy the three of them cellphones, despite Silas now being on the payroll with Rafflesia.

"So y'all can call me if there's an emergency. Or vice versa. Just don't go sending me five thousand messages, alright? I'll try to reply to them when I can, but it might be a while cuz I'm keeping the thing on silent. Don't want to go giving myself away." Maverick had explained while holding out a plastic bag towards the two of them.

Rafflesia's phone had been all pinks and blues, with a keychain looped in one corner of the metal. A small figurine of a Petricub hangs from it.

The phone that gets handed to him is black and studded with little metal stars that twinkle when he holds the phone this way and that.

Maverick's phone is a flashy shade of red and looks to be made from durasteel. Silas doubts even a bullet could crack the screen.

For the most part, Silas abstains from sending any messages or calling Maverick while they're away, but after seeing Rafflesia send them picture after picture, he eventually gets the courage one afternoon as he's planning on what to cook for dinner.

"What are you in the mood for?" He texts them and then realizes his mistake a second later. "FOR DINNER." He adds, thankful that as stated, Maverick wouldn't even look at the message until a few minutes later.

"That's a dangerous question." Maverick had replied, and Silas feels his face heat as he gets overwhelmed with the urge to toss the phone somewhere while he hides in the laundry room.  
"Got stuff for desert salsa?" Is the second text he gets. 

After checking the cabinets for tortilla chips and the fridge for all the other ingredients, he gives them confirmation that they do in fact, have everything. He receives a picture of Maverick offering a thumbs up, the background of the picture some dense jungle. Thankfully, there's no animal looming just behind their shoulder preparing to attack.

He saves the picture.

An easy back and forth of texts starts between the two of them, mostly about food. Maverick takes pictures of all the exotic fruits and vegetables they come across and ask if Silas was familiar enough with any of it to be used in cooking.

Sometimes, when he's sick of talking about food, Silas just sends them pictures of Dandelion doing all sorts of things; getting their mouth stained red with strawberries, sleeping on their back so that their fluffy stomach is exposed, or, and this is his favorite, sitting in the captain's seat of the cockpit.

"You've been replaced." Silas texts while sending a picture of Dandelion in their chair.

His phone buzzes a moment later and he laughs when Maverick's reply is a picture of one hand gestured into a finger gun, with the message "This chair ain't big enough for the two of us."

The thing about phones Maverick seems to enjoy the most is taking pictures. They whip out their phone whenever Rafflesia falls asleep on the couch in a weird position, sometimes getting caught when the flash goes off in her face and wakes her up.

Silas wasn't at all free from being on the receiving end of their new hobby, often getting photos snapped of himself when his hands were too busy cooking or elbow deep in soapy water to block off the attack. It'd be annoying if Maverick didn't stare down at the pictures, humming, and rub their thumb against the screen so admiringly.

\--

Late one evening, after Silas had showered and dressed for bed and was currently half dozing under the covers with an open book steadily slipping onto his face, he hears a knock on his door. Groaning, he slides the book off his face and groggily slides out of bed and shuffles over to the door. His feet feel unbearably cold against the tiles without socks. When he opens the door, he sees Maverick standing in the hall, fully dressed with their rifle strapped to their back.

"Sorry to be knocking on your door so late." They say. "But I was about to head out on a job, and," Maverick looks down from Silas' face to stare at their clothes. They raise a gloved hand to point.  
"...Is that my poncho? You kept it all this time?" 

As if electrocuted, Silas's brain shakes off its sleepiness and he looks down and realizes with horror that yes, yet it was Maverick's poncho, which they had let him borrow a month and change ago and he had honestly meant to return after washing it. The rest of Maverick's clothes had been returned, but somehow Silas had kept forgetting to return this one article of clothing and just sort of...claimed it as his own. Feeling his face burn with embarrassment, Silas makes the decision that perhaps saying nothing at all will make this conversation end.

Maverick takes a step forward into the room and the door closes automatically behind them.

"Was wondering where it went." They say and reach into their jacket. Their phone is deftly pulled out and a picture is snapped of Silas, who gets startled out of their vow of silence when the flash hits their face.

"Delete that." He says quickly.

Maverick hums pleasantly as they look at the picture. "Not a chance. I just got the perfect background for my phone."

He's positive he's got steam coming out of his ears with how hot his face is. When he moves to take the phone, Maverick quickly snaps it shut and holds it high above their head where he can't reach. He takes a step forward and reaches out as high as he can to steal the phone, leaving Maverick no choice but to back up against the door. While he's on the balls of his feet and stretching his arm as far as it can go, he stills when he sees Maverick simply watching him, those little sparks coming off their face.

"Don't stop on my account." They say in a rich timbre that turns Silas's knees to jelly. Feeling close to combustion, Silas backs off and glares at them.

"You're an ass." He tells them.

"Yeah?" They sound irritatingly pleased with that. Keeping the hand with the phone raised, Maverick uses the other to bring it up to Silas's face, where they then brush some of his bangs out of his eyes. The feel of warm leather against his skin shouldn't feel as good as it does.

"It'd be nice to have something to keep my spirits up while I'm working." Maverick tells him lowly. "But if you really want me to delete the picture, I will."

They bring their arm down and hold out the phone, giving Silas the choice.

In dim light of his bedroom, bathed in Maverick's neon glow and their warmth, Silas feels that distinct sensation of being overwhelmed again. 

"Keep it." He manages to say, and after a moment he adds: "But only if I can keep the poncho."

Maverick chuckles. "Deal- I wasn't lying when I said you looked cute in my clothes." And by the way they lean in, Silas is sure they're going to touch him again, but the incessant beeping that starts coming from their watch stops Maverick in their tracks.

With a sigh, Maverick ruffles his hair. "Gotta go."

And like that the tension is broken and Silas feels far too cold now that Maverick is slipping out the door.

He peeks out of his door and calls out to them before they reach the ladder. "...Will you be back for breakfast?"

Maverick looks over one shoulder and nods. "Wouldn't miss it for the world, sunshine."

\--

Its been three months aboard the ship now, and each time Silas awakes in bed, it feels more and more like home. It should make him happy to have someplace to even call home, but he can't help but remind himself of what happened to the last place he did.

\--

While the liveliness on the ship that was brought by Rafflesia playing video games at maximum volume or Maverick playing the radio in the cockpit was comforting in the sense it was a reminder he wasn't alone, Silas really did live for the quiet moments; the times where everyone was doing their own thing, but the invitation of someone joining them was always open.  
When Maverick wasn't off working and wasn't hanging out with Rafflesia, they could be found in the laundry room, usually shirtless, as they sat on a stool and hunched over the washer, which was used as a table as they mended a shirt or jacket. A small tin of sewing supplies or a dish filled with half water and half vinegar, used to clean muck out of leather, would sit close by.  
Other times, they'd sit in the common room by themselves by the fish tank and check that everything was in pristine condition, before going over to the cockpit and simply watching the vast expanse of space silently.

They don't seem to hang out in their bedroom longer than it takes to sleep, shower or get dressed. Maybe they just prefer being out in the open, and Silas guesses if Maverick really wanted space, they could just leave for a bounty and disappear for a day or two.

Rafflesia isn't fond of sitting in silence for long, but when she can stomach it, Silas finds her in the kitchen with a snack as she pours over a book. Sometimes she reads to Dandelion, who obviously doesn't have a clue what she's saying, but looks content and almost sleepy to simply hear her voice.

Silas himself has most of his quiet moments in the kitchen, as the majority of his time is spent in it. Currently, he was in the kitchen getting dinner started, with ideas of dessert, which he makes a few times a week, already running around in his mind. Rafflesia is in the room over, watching TV and undoubtedly messing with her phone.

When the door opens to the kitchen as Silas is balancing on the balls of their feet and peering into the oven where a whole chicken is roasting, he assumes its Rafflesia, as he hasn't seen Maverick all day, but when he straightens he finds himself proven wrong.

"Need any help?" They say in greeting. "I can start taking on those dishes piling up."

Silas glances at the sink and winces- he really should have started those before even thinking about dessert.

"I wouldn't ask you to do that." He tells them. "But, you can peel those apples for me if you want to help." Hopefully giving them a task, even a small one, will prevent them from arguing and making a fuss.

"Sure thing." And easy as a breeze, Maverick digs into one of the cabinets and grabs a paring knife. They take a seat on one of the stools and immediately start on the small basket of apples.

When Rafflesia walks in ten minutes later, she finds Silas covered in a fine dusting of flour as he works on a pie crust and Maverick up to their neck in both apples and peels. They perk up when they see her and gesture towards the small bowl filled with peels.

"Dandelion can have these as a snack before dinner." They tell her, and instead of Rafflesia leaving to go give the snack to Dandelion, she sticks her head out the door and calls them over. Thankfully, she had either been training them or Dandelion was just in a polite mood, because the snugget didn't rush into the kitchen as usual. 

Rafflesia takes a seat on the stool next to Maverick and begins to feed Dandelion the perfectly intact strings of apple peels.

When the crust is set neatly into a pie tin and the bottom of it has been pricked with a fork, Silas sets it aside so he can get started on slicing all the apples. With their role of apple peeler complete, Maverick starts checking their watch for messages, absentmindedly humming a song quietly, sometimes even singing a few words to themselves. 

Everything feels terribly domestic, and Silas ducks his face down as he smiles brightly.

"What song is that?" Rafflesia asks.

"Just a little something I heard when I was younger. Can't remember the name." Maverick opens up a message and zooms in on it. There's coordinates, along with the scanned face of an Avian.

"I like it." She says. "But that might be because how you make it sound."

Maverick sits a little straighter. "Is that so? Well how about you sing with me and we'll see if you like it just the same." They turn towards him. "You too, sunshine."

"I don't have a voice for singing."

Maverick blows a raspberry. "Nonsense. I doubt anything that slips from that mouth of yours could sound less than damn angelic on the ears."

"You think about my mouth often?" He asks with a quirked brow, and laughs when the glow of Maverick's face darkens a few shades darker and sparks fly off. The sparks have to mean something- maybe embarrassment, or just getting excited in general? He's yet to see it happen during an argument, so it must only happen when positive emotions are involved.

"Don't ask me that- a man's got to have some secrets." They finally say.

Rafflesia makes a gagging sound. "Are you going to teach us the song or what, glowstick?"

Maverick waves a hand at her. "Keep your britches on. I'll sing the first verse and then when I sing it again you two will repeat each line. Got it?"

He doesn't, not at all, but when Maverick starts singing, Silas finds he doesn't give a shit. Maverick's voice is, as always, steady and rich, but when they sing there's an almost honeyed timbre to it. Having two sets of eyes on them while they sing doesn't bother Maverick in the least, but when Silas feels their attention on him, he busies himself with cutting apples.

"Now you two sing after me," Maverick explains and starts the same verse again.

Unflinchingly, Rafflesia sings, her voice light and sometimes cracking, not seeming to care at all whether or not she sounds good. Silas wishes he could say the same, as he can barely raise his voice over a mumble that's easily drowned out.

Maverick doesn't tell him to sing louder or point out the fact that he's barely singing at all, just keeps him guided and motivated by their humming so he doesn't screw up too bad.

When Maverick finishes singing the next verse, Silas keeps his eyes lowered to the saucepan that's simmering with apples, cinammon, and heaps of sugar.

"Alright, now you two." He hears Maverick say and begrudgingly, Silas sings the words quietly as he stirs the apple pie filling with a spatula. The funny thing is, he doesn't hear Rafflesia singing along, and when he looks up he sees the two of them watching him with a pleased look, as if catching him in the act of something scandalous.

Realizing he's been had, Silas glares at both of them, a blush on his cheeks. "Oh, fuck off."

\--

Its a known fact that Novakids are an enigma among the other races; something rarely seen and foreign in ways that transcended the differences in biology and culture that the other races, as the Novakids had no culture, no origin, and for the most part, their biology was a mystery aside from the fact they were humanoid shaped beings made up of celestial gasses.

Silas can understand the curiosity, as he too finds himself mystified about many things about Maverick- but there's a fine line between curiosity and treating someone like an attraction to be ogled.  
When the three of them beam down to the Ark for some groceries, Silas notices that Maverick immediately adjusts their hat to obscure their face and flips up the collar of their leather jacket. They positively exude 'do not approach me'. He can't help but think of the DANGER sign on their bedroom door.

It becomes apparent why they do this, as not even a second later as they all begin to walk around, Silas catches dozens of curious looks and outright stares pointed at Maverick.  
Underneath the surface of his skin, Silas can feel his temper starting to boil his blood.

Rafflesia, unbothered or unaware of the stares, splits away from the two of them to go check up on a friend she's made. She offers a smile before running off.

Maverick looks down at him. "Friend? She didn't tell me she made one. She tell you?"

He shrugs. "She comes here all the time by herself." Some of those times were with a grocery list he'd written.

Silas walks past the small building with what looks like vendors, scientists and people simply hanging out. Rafflesia had said the Infinity Express was in this direction, just past the building, so that's where he leads himself and Maverick.

"She didn't want to introduce us to them?" Maverick continues to fuss, sounding perfectly insulted.

Silas mostly just tunes it out and lets them complain, humming in agreement here and there, as he really can't focus on the conversation as he keeps catching eyes on them. When the two of them reach the convenience store, Maverick wanders over to a nearby bench and pulls out their pack of cigarettes.

"I'll be here if you need me." They say.

The Infinity Express is bigger than it looks from the outside. Silas takes his time strolling around and looking at things, given its his first time, so he wants to soak it all in, even if it looks like every other convenience store he's seen in his life.

Off white, or was it yellow tiling, white walls, and rows upon rows of snacks and odds and ends. There's an Avian working the counter with blue plumage. They greet him with merriment that doesn't seem completely rehearsed, so Silas makes the effort of returning some of it, even if its a pathetic amount. 

He grabs a few staples like milk, eggs and bread, and takes a lot more time buying interesting looking snacks he hopes neither Maverick of Rafflesia have tried. After about fifteen minutes, he walks over to the counter.

"Find everything you need?" The Avian asks.

He nods politely and starts placing his things on the counter. He notices a window behind where the Avian is standing and sees that while Maverick is in fact seated on the bench smoking, they aren't alone. There's a young looking human, probably one of the scientists, given the lab coat, talking to them animatedly. 

He wouldn't give a shit if it weren't for the tense set of Maverick's shoulders, which he notices from yards off and through a window, as well as the fact that sparks are popping off their face- his assumption that the emote meant strictly positive things has been proven wrong.

"I'm sorry." He says to the cashier. "Excuse me one second, I'll be right back."

"Uhh, okay-"

Silas quickly walks out of the convenience store and takes a second to breathe and calm himself before he overreacts and makes an idiot of himself.

"I don't give a good god damn about yours or anyone's research." He hears Maverick say to the scientist. They exhale a cloud of smoke right at their face, which makes the scientist wrinkle their nose and wave off the smoke.

"It would be paid research." They insist.

"You can't afford me."

The scientist makes a pointed sound of exasperation. "Think of all the good it would do- what advances in health and biology we could make for your kind. You seem like a good person, so-"

Maverick chuckles, but it doesn't sound pleasant in the least. Its more like the rattle of a cornered snake. 

"Wrong," They interrupt. "I'm a low down, dishonorable, mean son of a bitch and I want you to remember that the next time you walk up to me like I owe you something."

Maverick rolls the filter of their spent cigarette between their thumb and middle finger, before flicking it expertly at the scientist's face, where it hits them on the cheek.  
Maverick readjusts on the bench so that the inside of their leather jacket is visible, which Silas knows is where they keep a pistol on them at all times.

Frankly, any thought that this person might just be friendly has gone out the window and jumped off a very high bridge and when Silas walks over to the bench he feels that familiar buzzing starting to go off as he for some reason, still sees the scientist standing there and worse yet, talking.

They were either a glutton for punishment or the densest thing in this star system.

"How are you even smoking? You don't even have a mouth-"

"You've got eyes and ears, yet you can't tell he isn't interested in your weird research bullshit." Silas interrupts, sliding between Maverick and the stranger. His hands are clenched into trembling fists.

"Maybe we should run some tests on you and see if there's a brain in that skull of yours. Maybe we can just crack it open and h ave a look!" He suggests and his green eyes cut into slits.

Silas knows he's being loud, knows that he probably looks deranged, knows that while his sharp gaze is directed to the stranger, he can feel Maverick's own line of sight burning holes into his back.

The stranger, with their pale skin and light hair, doesn't quite know how to react to Silas' sudden appearance or their sudden anger, other than blink rapidly like trying to rid themselves of grit in their eyes.

"Apologies." They say, lowering their face and taking a step back to put distance between themselves and Silas. "I was a bit forward in my eagerness of research."

He feels himself start to calm, just a little, but any calm he manages quickly spikes into something blinding when the scientist peeks around where Silas is standing to look at Maverick.  
"If you ever change your mind-"

"NOT INTERESTED!" Silas shouts, feeling close to having an aneurysm. His loudness startles the scientist into a jump, one that they barely straighten up from before leaving quickly.

If people weren't looking at him before, they definitely were now.

Silas takes a deep, shaky breath and drags both his hands down his face. His heart beats like thunder in his ears.

A warm hand settles on his shoulder.

"You didn't have to do that." Maverick says into his ears quietly.

He completely disagrees with that. "He was talking to you like some...specimen. The things he was asking." 

When his hands start to curl into fists again, Maverick covers one of them with their own and gently unfurls it.

"Hey, hey, hey," They say soothingly. "Just calm down, alright? Why don't we finish getting groceries?"

Shakily, Silas nods.

The two of them walk back into the Infinity Express and Silas apologizes once again for making the cashier wait. They tell him its no problem, none at all, nope, and hes forced to wonder if its because they heard the commotion, or worse, they had turned and around and watched him acting like a lunatic.

The cashier scans his things lightning fast and has them bagged up even faster. He hands over his pixel card. He hopes the next time he comes here the cashier will forget his face miraculously.  
Its of course just as his card is done being scanned that Maverick walks back over with two pre-made soft serve ice cream cones.

He sighs. "Sorry, can you add these?"

\--

The two of them take seats side by side on the bench Maverick had been occupying minutes ago. They offer him the chocolate ice cream, while they themselves take the pina-colada flavored one.

"I have to say," Maverick starts, and pauses to eat some of their ice cream. The swirl on the tip disintegrates. "It made me really happy you scared that weirdo off. He was more scared of you than someone that kills for a living- I even flashed my gun at them."

Silas shakes their head. "He probably knew you wouldn't shoot him out in the open, given that's illegal. Punching his teeth out, however, is probably something I can get away with."

Maverick bumps their shoulders together and laughs. 

A minute later when he's eaten some of his ice cream and calmed down, Silas asks: "Does that happen to you a lot?"

"Here and there." They answer. "Usually the threat of violence keeps people from asking stupid shit. Scientists tend to be a lot more stubborn, I find."

"...Does it bother you?"

"People asking how I function?" Maverick clarifies. "Sure. Its rude as hell. I mean, I get it- my ilk ain't exactly run of the mill. I've got a dozen questions myself."

Maverick sighs and slips an arm over the top of the bench just behind Silas' shoulders. It seems to comfort them.

"Where we're from, what exactly we are...Its all a mystery. We ain't got books or songs or stories passed down. We live in the moment," And Maverick thinks for a second. "- for better or for worse."

God, he'll never live down using that wording, will he? Silas tucks into his ice cream and considers what they've said.

"I don't know anything more about Novakids than the next person," He says. "But I know you. And I know that you're a fine captain and an even better friend."

Ice cream melts down Maverick's glove and drips onto their thigh as they stare at him wordlessly. They're as still as a statue.

"...That means a lot coming from you," They confess, sounding genuinely taken aback.

Silas huffs and takes another bite out of their ice cream with probably more force than necessary. "Well, its true." 

He feels exhausted as the adrenaline leaves him. "You're making a mess by the way."

Maverick makes a huh sound before looking at their ice cream and cursing. They proceed to shove the cone into their face and frantically look for napkins. Silas digs inside one of the grocery bags and finds a few, which he offers.

When he hears Maverick chuckling, he looks over.

"I can't get over how you went after that guy. You looked like hell on legs." They remark. 

"He was pissing me off."

"I know. Me too." 

Hurried footsteps sound from the left of the bench and when the two of them turn their attention they see Rafflesia jogging towards them.

"You got ice cream without me?" She pouts, looking at the remnants of a cone Silas was still working on.

"Don't I pay you enough to get your own damn ice cream?" Maverick chuckles.

"It tastes better when someone else buys it."

"Too right. Well, what flavor suits your fancy?" 

The two of them go back into the Infinity Express and when they come out, Rafflesia is carrying an absurdly tall ice cream cone with a plethora of colors. He wonders if Maverick had bought several pre made cones and shoved the ice cream onto one cone before eating all the remains.

"By the way, I heard a human and a Novakid were threatening some poor scientist. Care to explain that?" She asks once she's taken a seat on the bench.

"No." Silas says sharply.

"Sure." Maverick answers.

Rafflesia looks between the two of them with a look of suspicion. Maverick clears their throat and holds their hands up.

"Okay, look, it wasn't our fault- honest. That scientist was coming on to me, he seemed to really have a thing for my kind. He kept asking to suck my dick, like he really, really, wanted to but I had to keep politely telling him no." Maverick explains shakily as laughter overtakes them.

"That's disgusting!" Rafflesia hisses. "I thought I heard him grumbling about research."

The same moment Silas says: "Yeah, he would say that to cover it up.", is the moment Maverick snorts and says: "Yeah- research on my dick."

Silas looks at them, mouth hung open in incredulity, and something about Maverick meeting his gaze just than sets him off into a fit of laughter he's truly at the mercy of.

\--

"Things get better before they get worse." Silas recalls Rafflesia telling him his first day on the ship when she had so gently taken care of him. 

Looking down at his left wrist, now covered with bandaging, he wonders with exhaustion if his time alone on Walaim had been rock bottom or if this was a new low he had set. Was there somehow even worse to come? 

He blanches at the thought.

Silas quickly leaves the bathroom, not able to stand being there for another second and he retreats back to bed, where he's been holed up for two days now. He isn't sick, not in the physical sense.  
"I'm just tired." He'd told Rafflesia yesterday when she came in to check up on him and with Maverick gone again for work, Silas feels like a complete asshole for leaving her by herself.

"Just let me know if you need anything." She'd replied, giving him a hug before leaving.

Silas isn't sure what he needs. He'd recognized the oncoming depression before it had even hit, but it didn't matter, seeing as how he was hopeless anyways as it sunk its claws into him. All he could do was watch what little effort he could muster the past few days dwindle into nothing.

Each second that passes is a reminder that he is shirking his job, and thus becoming useless to everyone on board the ship- and yet he can't lift a finger to change that. Hours pass like this, as they did yesterday, with Silas feeling miserable in bed. He rolls down his sleeve and although the bandages on his wrist cover up the injuries, he can still imagine the horizontal lines tracking up his wrists with distinct clarity. 

He feels a sense of self loathing so encapsulating that he considers just than adding a few more to spite himself. Here he was, alive and well, while his old crew was buried in the sand of Walaim and all he can do is be envious of them.

He groans and shoves his sleeve back down. Flops over onto his side and stares at the wall. His stomach growls in hunger, but he ignores it.

\--

Sometime in the evening, Silas awakes to someone knocking on his door. By the time he's pushing himself up from the covers the door opens.

"Did I wake you?" Maverick asks while stepping into the room. There's a large plastic bag in one of their hands.

"Its fine." He says.

He notices the fact Maverick is fully dressed, but their clothes look stained and wrinkled, and notices the rifle on their back and it clicks in his mind with horror that while he himself had been wallowing in his room, Maverick had just come back from a job and had to grab something for dinner. 

Had Rafflesia been hungry? Was there no easy to prepare meals in the kitchen so she had to message Maverick to go and get something?

Silas slips two hands over his face and groans. "I'm sorry I didn't have anything cooked for you when you finished work."

"Don't sweat it." He hears Maverick say, along with incoming footsteps near his bed. "Raff told me you weren't feeling too hot. Besides, we haven't eaten out in a while."

Silas slides his hands off his face and sighs before laying back down.

"Are you hungry?" They ask.

"No. But thanks for getting food."

Maverick stares at him for a second before setting the bags on the floor and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. 

"Raff said you haven't been eating." Maverick says quietly. "I know you might not be hungry, but I think you should at least get a few bites in. And here," They reach towards the bags and pull out a container and a can. "I even got your favorite- pearlpea risotto and pineapple juice."

It is his favorite. He can't remember when he told them.

"Think you can eat just a little of it for me?" 

If he was going to be useless and not cook for anyone, Silas thinks it would behoove him to at least do what Maverick asks, even if eating is the last thing he wants to do. He forces himself to sit up again and accepts the food. 

Maverick glows just a little brighter and reaches out and ruffles his already messy hair. "You get started without me, alright? I got to give Raff her food and then I'll be back to eat with you."

\--

Silas preemptively turns the TV on in his room when Maverick leaves, hoping the noise will add a decent enough distraction- for what, he isn't sure. Perhaps just the loudness of his brain or the guilt eating up at him like a parasite. He cracks open the can of pineapple juice but doesn't take a sip, nor does he take a bite of his food. He wants to wait until Maverick comes back before he starts eating and knows that might take a bit, given they had to change clothes and put away all their weapons.

It comes as a surprise when Maverick returns barely two minutes later, still wearing the same clothes. He watches them set their food down on the chair before they start slipping their rifle and duffel bag on the desk. The dark metal of the well oiled rifle gleams under his lamp. Everything else stays on, boots included, and Maverick drags the chair over by the bed and plops down before settling their food in their lap.

He scoots the remote near them, just in case the random channel he put on isn't what they care to watch.

"How was work?" Silas asks. He picks up his fork and starts to slowly eat the pearlpea risotto. Maverick shoves three dumplings in their face before turning towards him.

"Hardly broke a sweat- I love the days when the bastards I'm chasing just turn themselves in. To be honest, I wouldn't want to go against me either."

Silas thinks about the bandits on Walaim, how one of their heads had exploded from the bullet from Maverick's rifle- he hadn't seen what happened to the other one, given he'd jumped into the ocean, but he thinks it was probably a lot less merciful than a shot to the head.

He hums. "I just like the days you come back in one piece."

"Can't argue with that."

Maverick watches the TV and eats, and truthfully, Silas just watches them and barely eats any of his own. When Maverick finishes their last bite and starts to pile all their garbage into a plastic bag, they turn towards him and look down at the majority of food that's left.

"You still eating?" They ask.

He shakes his head.

Maverick stands up and carefully takes the container off his lap. The can of juice stays on his nightstand.

"I'll go put this up for you- do you want anything from the kitchen?"

Seeing him shake his head again, Maverick starts to leave, but Silas feels this incessant urge pull at him and he's suddenly half out of bed and calling out to them.

"Wait." He blurts, and Maverick stills. "Sorry, it's just-" Silas takes a frustrated breath and runs a hand through his hair. "This won't happen again."

Maverick crooks their head to the side. "What won't?"

"This." He hisses, wanting to rake his nails across his face. "Me not doing my job and," And being a waste of space, he omits. 

He wasn't an idiot, he knew that his time on Walaim would have long term effects, some of them familiar some of them not. Depression wasn't anything new, neither were the intentionally added scars on his body- but he can't remember when any of it had been this bad. He was almost thirty and here he was struggling with the same shit he'd been dealing with when he was twenty.

"You're talking that bullshit again." He hears Maverick say softly.

It would be pretty childish, he thinks, to say no I'm not, but Silas is at a loss of what he should say- everything that comes to mind just sounds like an excuse.

Maverick sets everything they're carrying on the desk and walks back over to the bed and takes a seat. 

"Its okay to take a day or two off because you don't feel good. No one's going to get on your ass about that." And they reach out and settle a hand on his leg. "You work real hard everyday- don't think we don't notice. Or appreciate it."

He looks away from them to glare at the wall. "I don't feel like I'm doing much. I could work harder." He isn't sure how he could, but that's not what his brain wants to think about right now.

"Sunshine, you don't have to work at all and we'd still want you here." Maverick sighs.

Silas blanches at that and slowly drags their eyes away from the wall to look at them. Its hard to look at Maverick just than, even if nothing about their demeanor had changed. 

"You don't mean that." 

He hears Maverick audibly take a deep breath and the hand on his leg raises and grips the fabric of his shirt before pulling.

"What do I have to do or say to convince you to get rid of those rotten thoughts of yours?" They ask lowly.

This close, it feels like he's face to face with a radiator. He wonders how warm Maverick really is underneath all that clothing, but mostly wonders why they always wore so much in the first place. The only parts of their body visible is their face, 'hair', and the sliver of pink that sits between their gloved hands and the sleeve of their jacket.

"I don't know." He says honestly. "I don't know if anything can be done. Maybe I'm a lost cause."

Maybe he'll always feel this unsteady; stuck between feeling too much and nothing at all at the turn of a hat. The urge to release these frustrations, to break something, usually himself, little by little, is something he fears will always be within him, maybe dormant for a while, but always ready to awaken and wreak havoc on the life he's slowly building back the foundations of.

"I pulled you out of that water." Maverick's fist tightens in his shirt. "I'll pull you out of this too."

The dead set determination in which its said with makes his heart clench and his stomach flip. There's a sort of sensory overload he's experiencing, one that only worsens as he continues to stare into Maverick's pink face. To alleviate the feeling, if only a little, he averts his gaze.

He doesn't get to for long, because with Maverick's other hand, they catch his chin between their thumb and curled index finger and make him look.

"I mean it." They tell him. "Anytime you feel like this, I want you to go to me or Raff. You shouldn't be alone like this." Its said like a warning, said with the same intonation Maverick had used when handing him their pistol back on Walaim.

Don't make me regret giving this to you.

If Maverick knew about the scars, new and old on his body, would they feel the same? Or would they feel like they had taken a chance on trusting him and putting effort in his well being, his life, only for it to be squandered like he's doing now?

It makes him nauseous to think about it.

Feeling as if a good breeze would send him flying, Silas grows limp in Maverick's hold and leans forward to press his face against their shoulder. He hopes they don't mind.

"I'm sorry." He mumbles into leather.

He feels the fist in his shirt release and a moment later both of Maverick's arms slip around his back and settle there. One even dares to slip into his hair, the feeling of which makes him feel even more boneless.

"I get worried about you." Maverick says. "All the time. I like it better when you're calling me an asshole and fussing at me- not holed up in your room like you don't deserve to be here."

"I'd be miserable if you left. I'm sure Raff feels the same. I get attached really quick, alright? So don't go slipping away from us." They continue.

He shakes his head. "I already said I'm staying."

"Not what I meant." 

It clicks in his mind what they had meant, but either lacked the heart to say it straight or had a fear of jinxing something.

\--

The next time that terrible fog captures him, Silas doesn't allow it to ferment his brain with more rot than whats already currently living there. It takes an almost herculean amount of effort to keep himself from going into the bathroom and doing something he'll regret, but somehow, he manages to exit his room and knock on Rafflesia's door.

When the door opens, she looks him up and down, probably taking in his messy hair, the stubble on his chin, and the deep bags beneath his eyes. She offers a small smile and lets him in.  
He stays in her room for hours, either watching TV or playing one of her hand held games, which she has to show him how to use.

He still feels terrible, still feels groggy and apathetic and gross- but it helps being around someone else. 

\--

"Royal flush." Silas hears Rafflesia announce just as he's walking into the common room one evening. She sets down five cards with considerable flourish onto the table her and Maverick are seated at, the Novakid seated across from her, one arm bent on the table by the elbows and carrying their cards, the other towards their face and tipping back their flask.

Maverick peers at her lain out cards, blanching in color just the slightest, then peers at Rafflesia and then their own hand, before huffing in annoyance and throwing down their cards. 

"Starting to think teaching you how to play was a bad idea." Maverick sighs. Noticing Silas by the door to the kitchen, they perk up. "Howdy sunshine- you wanting in on this travesty of a game?"

Silas walks over to the table and stops to stand near Rafflesia, who's busy herding pixels towards her side of the table that she fails to pay attention to the cards slipping out from her shirt and onto her lap.

"I think I know why its a travesty." He snorts and swipes the cards off Rafflesia's lap. He tosses them onto the table and Rafflesia makes a panicked, squeaky sound, like a mouse caught in a trap. Maverick stares at the cards for a long, long time, not making a sound. Eerily quiet, Maverick looks up at Rafflesia, who's big grin wilts by each passing second.

"I ought to stuff you down the trash chute, you menace." Maverick says while standing up. "Got anymore cards hidden? I'm not opposed to holding you up by your ankles and shaking you."

And to make good on that threat Maverick rounds the table quickly, much to Rafflesia's horror, as she jumps out of her chair and stands with enough force the chair falls over with a clatter. 

"Don't drag me into this." Silas scolds when she hides behind his back, but at the same time he doesn't move to expose her, not even when Maverick steps up to him and stops toe to toe with him. In a weird sort of hug, but not really, Maverick encircles their arms around Silas' to reach out for Rafflesia, who they grip by the shoulders.

"Duck." They tell him, and when Silas does he can't help but laugh when Rafflesia is pulled into the air, kicking and hissing. 

She doesn't get shaken by her ankles until even the flower on her head comes loose and instead, Maverick takes her over to the couch where they drop her like a sack of flour before quickly hunching over her and wiggling their fingers against her ribs. The following shriek that erupts from her is an assault on Silas' eardrums he winces in response to.

Despite getting kicked a few times, Maverick doesn't stop at dishing out this extremely petulant punishment until Rafflesia is gasping for breath. Only then does the Novakid back away to give her space to calm down.

Leaving her to catch her breath, Silas' eyes follow after Maverick who walks back over to the table with a shake of their head. 

"Know how to play poker?" Maverick asks while gathering all the cards.

He shakes his head.

"It's not too hard. I can teach you, if you'd like. Just pull up another chair," Their attention turns towards the couch. "Unless you're done playing, Raff?"

"I'll play!" Sounds off from the couch. Clawed hands grip the back of the couch before Rafflesia's face peeks over the top. "I won't cheat this time, I promise."

"Uh-huh."

\--

Silas is terrible at poker, he discovers. It's not because he's terrible with the rules or math or whatever else factors into cards- it's because his emotions are absurdly easy to read, which is basically a death sentence in poker he pieces together. Something about the furrowing of his brows, the mutter of curses under his breath, the hardening of his eyes; Rafflesia and Maverick read him like an open book and ruthlessly use it against him.

When he looks at his current hand and finds that its absolutely shit, it of course shows on his face despite his best efforts, because Rafflesia suddenly ups her bet by a startling degree.

"That's a fair amount of pixels." Maverick remarks. By their calm tone and relaxed posture, its heads or tails whether or not they themselves share the same confidence in their hand as the Floran, who is practically dancing in her seat with glee. 

"Astute observation," Rafflesia laughs. "What are you going to do about it?"

Maverick inspects their cards with a hum. Meanwhile, no matter which way Silas looks at his own, he can't really see an angle in which he doesn't dig himself further into the hole he's found himself in. 

"I fold." He says. He tosses his cards onto the table and relaxes into his chair with his arms crossed. 

Rafflesia takes one look at his hand and her cheeks puff with the bark of a laugh she's containing. "You really have nothing to work with." It almost sounds like admiration.

"You sound really confident, Raff." Maverick pipes in. "Why don't you show us your hand already?"

Rafflesia straightens up in her seat. "I am confident." She corrects and lays down her cards. "Three of a kind. What do you have, captain?"

Feeling two pairs of eyes on them, Maverick looks down at their cards. "Oh, I dunno, nothing much." They sigh. "Just a...straight flush."

And when their cards are lain out, Silas and Rafflesia realize that they aren't bluffing either, although Silas handles the overwhelming loss with barely a shrug- he hadn't been winning any games anyways and he hadn't been stupid enough to keep raising his bets.

Rafflesia on the other hand, sputters and looks frantically from the table to Maverick, who's started laughing, before sinking into her chair groaning. Her obvious dismay increases tenfold as Maverick drags the pixels towards themselves.

"I'm done with betting." She huffs.

"That figures, on account of you having nothing left to bet." Maverick snorts. Oddly enough, Maverick only takes all the pixels to split them evenly into two piles, which they than slide each over to the two of them.

Silas quirks a brow. "Are you splitting the winnings so we can keep betting?"

"Nah. I'm splitting it because I don't want it." 

"And why is that?" Rafflesia asks.

Maverick shrugs. "I don't have much use for pixels besides paying you two and up keeping the ship. Sides, I make ten times as much as this by shooting someone."

No one argues with that. Silas and Rafflesia take their pixels and set them on their sides of the table. 

"Did you want to keep playing?" Silas asks. Maybe they cared more about the game itself than actually winning anything.

"We don't have to keep playing poker. I can teach you two some other card games." Maverick says.

The next game they teach is Slapjack, which ends as quickly as it starts due to Rafflesia's sharp claws catching on the tops of hands or leaving marks into the table.

"What if I wear one of your gloves?" She asks when Maverick suggests a different game.

"Not a chance."

So the three of them give up on Slapjack. Silas has never seen Maverick without their gloves, much less at least two or three layers of clothing, but he fails to see what sort of meaning could be behind that.

They settle on playing Crazy Eights.

"Didn't you say you made a new friend?" Silas asks Rafflesia, who's setting down a card into the discard pile. 

Her clawed hand pauses, just for a second, before retreating back and cradling her hand of cards along with the other. She brings up the cards to hide the bottom half of her face as if it were a fan.

"I did." She agrees.

He gives her a searching look, one that she ignores, so he rolls his eyes and focuses back on his own cards. "Consider the subject dropped."

"Now hold on," Maverick cuts in. "I'd like to hear about this person. Come on Raff, spill the beans- give me a name or something to work with."

Rafflesia stiffens at that. "Why? So you can look them up and see if they have a bounty?"

The question comes out far more accusatory than Silas or even Maverick had anticipated, because the Novakid leans back from the table slowly, as if reeling from a slap. Silas can tell Rafflesia immediately regrets saying it, as she ducks further and further into her seat and avoids eye contact.

"...Any friend you make is a friend of mine." Maverick says without an ounce of irritation, which is somehow worse. "Now I admit, I would look them up, just to be safe, but most of all, Raff, I'd like to to be introduced so I can welcome them on our ship if they ever wanted to hang out here with you."

"But," They continue. "If you want to keep this private, than I won't pry. Subject dropped." Maverick goes back to looking at their hand, looking unbothered despite the tension that's risen at the table. 

For the most part, Silas can ignore it too, but when he glances at Rafflesia he sees that she's squirming in her chair with palatable regret and discomfort. When the feeling becomes too much, Rafflesia lowers the cards from her face and opts to stare at her lap instead.

"I didn't mean what I said. And it's-" Rafflesia's fingers curl and uncurl tightly around her cards, threatening to bend them. "...it's not like I'm trying to hide them or anything. It's just, I'm not sure if I think of them as just a friend."

Playing cards is the last thing on Silas' mind as he turns towards her. "Is that why you didn't want to talk about it?"

She nods and lifts her gaze to look at Maverick. "I don't know them that well yet and I don't want you guys to meet someone that isn't..." At a loss for words, she gestures with a roll of her wrist.

"What?" Maverick prompts. "Up to par? Raff, whoever you like is bound to be a decent enough person. You don't need our approval or some dumb shit like that." They reach across the table to pat her hand.

"I know," She says. "But it'd be a waste of time if I introduced them only to find out later on that I don't really like them at all after getting to know them better."

"I don't think it'd be a waste." Silas tells her. "But if you want to wait before making any decisions, than that's fine."

"Yeah, its your call."

Rafflesia nods and thinking that was the end of that conversation, the three of them continue playing cards. 

"...Her name's Junko." Rafflesia mumbles with a look of embarrassment. "She's from a Hylotl settlement in the Muphrid Veil star system, but she's been around the Ark a lot lately. I don't mind if you look her up."

Maverick considers that. "It's a pretty name." Is all they say, and that seems to please Rafflesia.

Still wanting to talk, but not about her romantic interests, Rafflesia turns towards Silas just as he's picking up a card. 

"Where are you from?" 

The Iraculi star system." He answers. "My home planet was quiet- in a good way. Instead of cities, we had clusters of small towns. Iraculi ll is all grassy hills, giant flowers and blue skies." It's been a while since he's thought of home. Usually, he just thinks of the people, but as he remembers the places and things that used to be the norm in his life before he took to the stars, he finds himself feeling nostalgic.

"Would you ever want to visit?" Maverick asks.

"Yeah! It sounds really nice. Is your family there too?"

The latter question doesn't sting as much as he'd thought it would. Silas shakes his head.

"We can visit, but I don't have any family left. My grandfather, Rigel, was the one who raised me and he passed away eight years ago. He left his house to me, but honestly its just sitting there collecting dust." He explains.

Rafflesia wilts at that, obviously regretting asking, so he knocks his foot against hers under the table.

"I'm not upset you asked. I've made peace with his passing." He tells her.

"I thought you said you didn't have any place to be when I picked you up?" Maverick points out.

He shrugs. "And that's true- sure, I have a house I could live in, but I'd be alone. And well," His face reddens just the slightest. "-well, I think I'm a lot happier here with you two than I would be alone in that house."

Maverick hums, pleased, and pats his shoulder. "We're happy to have you."

Rafflesia smiles brightly at him in obvious agreement.

Feeling flustered, Silas clears his throat. "What about you?" He asks Maverick.

"What about me?"

He rolls his eyes. "Where's home for you?"

Maverick doesn't stiffen and their glow doesn't dim, but something about the air at the table changes just than, like the temperature had dropped a few degrees.

"My kind don't have homes." Is what Maverick answers. "Don't need one either- this ship is all I need." 

Rafflesia quirks her head to the side and blinks owlishly. "But where did you grow up? You know a lot about humans, almost as much as Silas- did you grow up on a planet like Vega's?"

It's extremely validating to hear that he isn't the only one that's noticed that specific thing about Maverick.

"Yeah, it was similar to hers. I won't bore you with the uninteresting details." They say, suddenly interested in focusing on the game instead.

Silas shares a look with Rafflesia. 

"Would you ever want to make a home? Somewhere off the ship, with a house or something?" Silas continues despite the lack of enthusiasm Maverick has for this conversation. 

Maverick tips their head back and takes a deep drink from their flask. "This ship is my home." They reiterate and its with a small laugh that doesn't at all sound sincere that they continue. "Can you imagine? Me, settling down on some plot of dirt and making a home?"

Silas feels a spike of annoyance run through him. "I could. It's okay to think about the future sometimes." 

Maverick snorts. "Well don't bet your pixels on it, partner. The day I get attached to a patch of dirt will be a cold day in hell. Now, are you going to draw a card or should I skip your turn?" 

\--

That conversation takes root in his brain and flourishes into a great, harrowing tree that Silas feels he lacks both the strength and the will to fell. It's no big surprise as to why he can't get it out of his mind, as the conversation itself is a reminder that no matter how close he gets to Maverick, he still knows next to nothing about them.

Sure, he knew the things that Maverick liked and disliked, knew the kind of music they listened to and knew the soft sound of their voice when they baby talked Dandelion, but those were things Rafflesia knew and that anyone, could in fact know, just by hanging around the Novakid enough.

But their history- what circumstances and events that made Maverick the kind of person that would see someone in need of help and unflinchingly scoop them up and give them a home, Silas isn't privy to, despite how badly he wants to be.

\--

It isn't often Silas can build up the courage to go to the Ark alone, but he thinks if he wants to ever get rid of this dreadful feeling of somehow becoming stranded whenever he's not with Rafflesia or Maverick, than he needs to put into practice going places by himself whether or not it makes him sick to his stomach.

Getting groceries has become easy enough, given he only has to go to one place and deal with one person before he beams himself back up to the ship and the trip itself usually takes no longer than fifteen minutes. He's aware he counts each minute that passes as he walks up and down the isles of the Infinity Express, just as he's aware of how badly he sweats when he imagines for some reason his watch not working when he's ready to leave.

But today, Silas doesn't need groceries when he beams down to the Ark. He doesn't need anything at all, except for maybe his heart to calm down as he starts walking from the Infinity Express down towards the building where the majority of the Ark's residents seem to flock. He walks past groups of scientists animatedly discussing among each other, hoping he doesn't see a familiar face, and continues on past vendors and people of all races simply hanging out by vending machines and shooting the shit.

Past the building is a clearing that feels like a miniature junkyard- stacks of metal, half finished projects and abandoned hoverboards make up the backdrop between Pete and all the penguins. There's a ladder that leads downstairs, where he finds a dingy looking bar filled with rough looking penguins, but Silas isn't in the mood for a drink, so he doesn't stay longer than it takes to simply absorb the small details of the Beak Easy. Back on the surface, past the Infinity Express, past the buildings and vendors, past the junk, are stairs.

This is the farthest he's ever been.

Neither of his companions had informed him what lay in wait past all the bustling people and storefronts and now that he's staring down at the stairs, which seem steep in their descent, like looking down from the top of a mountain, Silas feels acutely more nervous than he had since beaming down that day. 

For one reason or another, he can't see anything in the distance, no matter how hard he tries. All his eyes see are endless void and the stairs, which are illuminated just the slightest. Silas reminds himself that he can beam up at anytime, but strangely the voice in his mind is not his own; it sounds warm and steady.

Taking in a deep breath and mindful of where his feet are, he takes the stairs one by one at an excruciatingly slow pace. The void around him is nerve-wracking, so Silas keeps his eyes down on the steps. It feels oddly like descending into the maw of some great, ancient beast and that thought doesn't do anything for him other than make him sweat more, so Silas clears his minds into a comforting blank.

The amount of time it takes for him to land on flat ground, Silas isn't sure and he really doesn't care as when he lifts his gaze he finds a soft, white, almost blue light glowing around him. In the almost dark of the void around him, their shapes outlined by glowing light, are monoliths of stone. Great, big chunks of history- who's history, he isn't sure. There are pillars, arches and slabs, all covered in text. Curiously, he walks over to one of the arches and carefully rubs his fingers against the cool stone, letting his fingers dip into the engraved letters. 

There's a heavy, wondrous feeling that always encapsulates him when he's studying something far more vast and older than himself. Whereas Silas usually felt anxiety upon remembering just how small and insignificant he was in the grand scheme of things, all he feels now is a wistfulness he can't exactly make sense of. All he knows is that he isn't scared as he continues down this treasure trove of history.  
Between the arches and pillars in coordinated stops, are perfectly intact statues of some being- it's humanoid in shape, but there's no features like a face, distinguishing sexual characteristics, or even hair. 

Whether or not the lack of features is an accurate portrayal of whatever this being is or if the artist that made such a structure took some short cuts, is yet to be discovered.

The statues of the beings strike him with a feeling of reverence; he can tell that love, or at least great respect, was carved into each crevice. Silas doesn't think it would be a stretch to assume this being was either a hero that had been elevated to the symbol of godhood, or was in fact a god to some group of people. 

He had touched the other structures, but Silas doesn't dare lay a single finger on the being. Divine punishment or not, he knows deep in his bones that reaching out and touching would be disrespectful. Still, he does get the urge.

When he reaches a large platform, Silas can't help the gasp as he notices the ancient gate before him. Its colossal, easily dwarfing the other things he's seen as of yet, and in complete awe, he steps up to it eagerly. On the flat surface of the gate is a symbol he's never seen before. It looks like a sun rising over the curve of a planet and in between the solar rays' are round indentations- perhaps where stones or jewels had sat before. 

Most interesting of all, however, are the pillars wrapped around the gate. On either side, mirrored, are rows of of faces- one for each race, seven in total. But there's a spot for an eighth, but Silas finds the face has been removed and in its place, a gap. 

Considering the great skill, intelligence and other things needed to build such a gate, Silas doubts the missing face was a mistake in counting. Is the gate implying there was a another race, one unknown to all? In fact, was this gate just for decoration, or could it actually open? Peeking behind it, all he finds is void and he doesn't dare walk too close to the edge of the platform.

"Oh." A voice softly speaks from behind him. "I'm not used to seeing others besides myself here."

Turning around quickly, Silas sees an elderly woman seated on wheelchair, which floats two feet above the ground. Her hair is silver-white, like starlight, and curls around her face, which was wrinkled with laugh lines and creases in the corners of her blue eyes. Her eyes are what stand out, not because of the blue hue, but the startling sharpness to them. 

She's dressed like many explorers he's met- beige short sleeved shirt with a collar, khaki shorts, a wide brimmed hat and a red scarf around her neck. The round glasses on her nose, the feather in her hat, and the pick axe and bags filled to the brim on the back of her wheelchair shout explorer or at the very least, scholar.

"There's no need to look on edge- you aren't trespassing. These artifacts, this history, it belongs to all of us." She continues.

Silas relaxes just the slightest. "I had no idea any of this existed just a short walk away. It's..." Words have never been his strong suit, but he feels immensely relieved when the woman nods in agreement, even laughing a little.

"Very." She agrees. "Are you new around the Ark?"

"Yeah? I don't live here, but I beam down for groceries. So I guess I'm new?" He shrugs. Silas closes the distance between the two of them so he can hear her soft voice more clearly. He holds out a hand to her.  
"I'm Silas Louvel. It's nice to meet you."

The woman offers him a gentle smile, but when she reaches down to shake his hand, Silas finds her grip is strong and unwavering. 

"Esther Bright. The feelings mutual." She says. "Tell me, Silas, do you recognize any of these monuments? Any of the words etched into stone?"

"Not even a little. I'm not as fluent in other languages as I'd like to be." 

Esther raises a brow, looking curious. "And what languages are you fluent in?" 

"Several human languages, but I can only read and write the Hylotl and Avian common tongue. I'm working on my Glitch." He tells her. 

"That's impressive! But I'm afraid that even if you knew the language of every race, the writings on these monuments would still be out of your grasp- as it's out of mine, as well." When Esther hovers over to the gate, Silas trails after her, mindful to keep her pace instead of walking ahead of her.

"This is not a language written by beings as small as you and I." She continues and raises one hand to point towards one of the statues of the featureless being.

"This being- who or what is it?" He asks.

Esther turns towards him in her seat, but her eyes stay planted onto the statue. "It was called the Cultivator. I cannot tell you what it is exactly, as some believed it was a god and others believed it was the pure essence of life and spirit given form.

"I'm sure you've noticed most of the statues depicting the Cultivator show it holding up planets and stars. The belief that it was the creator of all things, including the races and the planets, is not a belief you would be alone in, if you cared to believe such a thing."

Silas considers that and crosses his arms. "Truthfully? I've never put much thought or care into whether or not there was a higher being that orchestrated our lives. And I think," He pauses. "-even if there was in fact one, it wouldn't really change how I lived my life or how I made my decisions. I think it would just give some...closure? If that makes sense."

Esther's eyes twinkle as she smiles down at him. "It does. The Cultivator- and I am making baseless theories, mind you-, I think would not have cared whether or not they were worshiped or if its creations lived how it wanted them to. I think it is just that- a cultivator. A being with the ability to form the worlds as it likes."

Silas hums. "That would be comforting, given some of the religions I've studied are...brutal, to say the least."

With a gesture of one hand, Esther asks him to follow her as she begins to descend down another set of stairs on the opposite end of the platform. 

"From what I've learned, the Cultivator is benevolent. It did in fact care about its creations, even if it did not personally reach out or mingle in their lives." Esther explains. As the two of them reach another platform, a series of statues in a row tell a story, one that Silas doesn't at all like.

"I know this benevolence because its shown here for us," She says. "The Cultivator was not alone in its great potential for shaping the things around it."

She points towards a statue, one where the Cultivator is being overwhelmed by a many tentacled beast, the eyes of which Silas finds striking. His stomach ices over as he continues to examine it.

"What is that thing?" He asks.

"The Ruin," Is her answer. The brightness of her eyes dim somewhat, but regardless she keeps eye contact with the abomination. "It is a blight; one that consumes and corrupts without hesitation or remorse. Human, Avian, Glitch- it does not matter. Just as the Cultivator makes life indiscriminately, the Ruin snuffs it out."

Silas blinks a dozen times, processing that information, before shaking his head. "Is this history or fable that you're telling me?"

If possible, Esther's eyes grow even dimmer. "Have you ever been to Earth?" She asks, which throws him for a loop.

"No. I meant to visit one day, since my grandfather was raised there. But seeing as how its uninhabitable now, I doubt I can do that." He says.

"Uninhabitable is a gentle way of putting it." Esther sighs. "A year ago, without rhyme or reason, the Earth, human's original colony before we all branched off into the stars, suffered from a cataclysmic event. That once blue planet, I've heard, is now a rusty hue."

Silas nods. "And since no one survived, whatever happened that day is a mystery."

Esther gives him a considering look, as if sizing him up.

"What?" 

"...You seem to value knowledge and history just as much as I do. But, there are some things that are more of a burden to know than they are enlightening." Esther says delicately.

"That's the price of knowledge." He says resolutely. "You cannot pick and choose what you learn in life."

Esther nods. "True. But I am offering you a choice to do just that. We could end our conversation here and you could leave."

If only to show that he's taken that into consideration, Silas stays quiet for a moment, thinking, but ultimately he's already made up his mind. He doesn't like leaving things half assed, worse yet, learning a story but not hearing the ending.

"I want to know." He says.

Esther looks at him, really looks, before letting her eyes close and a small smile creep up her face. "I can't tell if you're stubborn or determined." 

"There's a difference?"

She laughs. "I suppose not. Well, if you are eager to learn, than I am eager to teach. However, keep in mind that I did warn you."

He nods.

"Two of the things you know about Earth are incorrect, firstly being that the event that caused its immediate destruction is not a mystery." 

"And the other?"

"There was one survivor." She says, and before Silas can open his mouth and ask if the survivor was in fact, her, Esther holds up a hand to stop him. "And no, it isn't me. While I was raised on Earth, I haven't visited it in many years."

"Okay," He says, needing a second to breathe. "Okay, so there was survivor. That's great, but what caused the Earth to end up like that in the first place?"

Esther points at the statue of the Cultivator fighting against the Ruin. "No one can win a fight every single time, no matter how mighty. When the Cultivator lost, its vast form exploded and separated into billions of pieces across the world. Without our protector, the Ruin had nothing in the way of its hunger for destruction. While I suspect many uninhabited planets met the same fate, the Earth was its first target with a body count."

It's a lot to take in. Believing that the Ruin was the cause of Earth's destruction meant believing that the Cultivator was in fact a tangible being that created not just his life, but the planets and galaxies in general. And if he believed all that Esther had said, Silas would also have to believe that the Ruin was still out there wreaking havoc, with any of the planets he or his crew visited possibly being its next mark.

"I don't think you're a liar," He tells Esther. "And I'm not so opposed to there being things greater than my comprehension that I will completely dismiss evidence when I see it- but I haven't seen any evidence."

"I would not suggest paying Earth a visit." Esther tells him. "But if you want evidence, I'm afraid the only other method of receiving it other than visiting Earth would be talking to the lone survivor." She doesn't sound at all confident.

"You make it sound like finding them is almost as risky as going to a destroyed planet." He remarks with a hint of a laugh.

She hums. "Not risky- but he knows how to make himself scarce. I'm afraid he isn't at all fond of me, which I don't blame him for."

"Why's that?" 

Surprisingly, a distinct look of shame clouds Esther's features.

"After he escaped Earth, I think he was alone for a while on some planet. But what strikes me as odd is the fact he ended up on a planet that had a gate on it- one that lead directly to the Ark. After gathering some materials needed to activate the gate, he arrived here, where we met for the first time.

"I was not as...sympathetic as I should have been. Or even at all. He had just lost his home planet, his family and friends, and instead of allowing him time to grieve I pushed him into a role he clearly was not ready for. Because of that, I've yet to see him since." She explains wearily.

"And what role was that?" Silas asks.

"The lasting living Protectorate of Earth." She answers, but the words don't mean anything at all to him. "On Earth, there was a coalition of races called the Terrene Protectorate. Their goal was to protect the universe. People of all races would join an academy and train and upon graduation, they would receive their Matter Manipulator, a tool used to break down and rearrange materials. It is this same tool that I believe, will be able to stop the Ruin's destruction."

He blanches at that. "You think some piece of tech will be able to stop what an apparent god couldn't?"

"Not in the sense that you're thinking." She clarifies quickly. "When the Cultivator lost against the Ruin, it made a last attempt to seal it away. Doing so was the cause of the Cultivator being destroyed. But before that happened, they left each of the selected seven races an artifact, which I believe are to be gathered all in one place and placed within the gate."

Silas thinks of the round indentations, several in total. "And what happens after? Where does the gate lead?"

She appears to be at a loss. "I'm not sure. Perhaps the action alone will be the catalyst for the Cultivator will be reformed? Perhaps the gate is method of sealing the Ruin once again? Who can say?"

"And the Matter Manipulator plays into this, how?" He asks.

"To find each of the artifacts, one would have to study each race and locate said artifact. Not many are skilled enough to do so, let alone survive hopping from one planet to another, but the Matter Manipulator would certainly make the journey much easier. And only the lone survivor has one, as all others were lost on Earth."

Silas takes a deep breath, crouches down, and lays flat on the ground where he stays for a few minutes. 

"If all of this is true, than the fate of the universe is all depending on one guy? Who just so happens to have the last tool needed to make all this work?" He asks.

"...I'm afraid so." 

He can't help it, he has to laugh. "Life is so fucking bizarre. This poor, grieving bastard has to shoulder the universe's problems just because he has some mystical tool that can, what? Move dirt around? And he has to do it alone? And if he fails than we're all fucked?"

"Ideally, he wouldn't be alone. But, yes, if nothing is done in regards to the Ruin, I dare say we are all in for a bad time." 

He scoffs. "No kidding. So you've met this guy once- who is he? Do you know where he might have run off?"

Esther sighs deeply. "I've heard rumors that he's off working with Peacekeepers. Or what's left of them."

Silas glances up at her from his spot on the ground. "Peacekeepers?"

"It was once a branch of the Terrene Protectorate that focused solely on the less...political peace keeping side of the group. They went after criminals with bounties." She explains. 

Silas stiffens. "...This guy you met. He didn't happen to be a pink Novakid, did he?"

Slowly, so slowly, Esther turns her chair to face him. She peers down at him with wide eyes. "With a brand shaped like a heart?" She asks.

Silas slides his hands to his face and groans behind his fingers. 

"Silas, have you met them?" He hears her ask, her voice as hopeful as it is anxious.

"I have," He confirms after a minute. "Maverick, right? He's my captain- I work on his ship."

A relieved laugh escapes Esther, who's blue eyes are shiny with tears. Standing to his feet, Silas offers his hand for her to hold.

"I can't help but think us meeting is nothing short of fate." She cries softly. "It feels weird to believe in such things, let alone tell someone else I believe in them, but what else could be the cause of this?"

He shrugs. 

"...Is he doing well?" She asks.

As much as he's enjoyed talking to Esther, Silas can feel something unpleasant just around the corner. "He's doing fine. But listen, if you're going to ask me to drag him down here so he can fufill some task that's beyond one man, I need to tell you now that isn't going to happen."

Esther looks up at him, her tear streaked face held in shock. "...You do understand that without him, all life is destined to flicker out one by one. As much as it pains me to ask them to do such a task, I will do so regardless."

"And that's your right to ask him that." Silas agrees. "But it isn't mine. I don't think its moral to ask someone to hold the universe's fate on their shoulders, I just don't. If the Cultivator couldn't stop the Ruin, what's to say one man can? Maybe its our fate to meet our end by it."

Esther releases his hand and hovers a few feet away from him. "How can you say that? Does life matter so little to you?"

"Does Maverick matter so little to you?" He argues. "If he goes along with this task of yours, he's probably going to die."

Esther throws her hands up. "We're all going to die anyways if nothing is done!"

"The problem with putting fate into one person's hands means that if they fail or they die, everything will fuck up, but worse, the one who's failed will die thinking they were responsible for any of it! What if instead of betting on one person, we learned how to replicate Matter Manipulators and rallied up a group to work together to take on the Ruin?" He continues.

Esther shakes her head. "There was an academy for a reason. We don't have the time or resources to start training people and figuring out how to mass produce Matter Manipulators."

"Than you have your answer; if this is a task that can only be completed by one person, with a specific tool, than maybe its destined to not be completed." He tells her.

Esther turns her back to him and stares off into the endless void of space. She doesn't say anything for a long time. Beyond tired, Silas turns on heel to leave.

"Wait." She calls out.

He pauses to look over his shoulder.

"...Can you tell him I'm sorry?" 

"For?" He prompts.

"...For everything. For not letting him grieve. For tactlessly pushing him towards a task he, let alone anyone, could be ready for." Esther says.

"...I'll tell him that." He hears her let out a relieved sigh. 

"Thank you, Silas. I'm sorry our first conversation ended so poorly and...I hope that you would visit me again in the future." 

He nods. "I'll see you around." Which is all the acceptance of her apology he can muster with what little energy he has left before he beams up to the ship.

\--

"Oh, hey, was wondering where my sunshine ran off to." Maverick greets from the couch of the common room as Silas walks in. "...You alright? You look pissed."

Silas tries to school his features into something more neutral, but that's been a struggle of his since he was little- whatever emotion he felt, he felt it strongly and it always showed on his face like a neon sign. It's hard to look at Maverick just than. Maverick, who was warm and relaxed and welcoming to a fault. Maverick, who seems incapable of keeping their hands to themselves, who always needs to feel and touch and be close to others. Maverick, who up until twenty minutes ago, he knew next to nothing about, but now knew far too much.

So stuck in these thoughts, Silas doesn't notice at all that Maverick has stood up and walked over to him. It's only when he's pulled into a hug and his face presses against their shirt, that he snaps out of his thoughts.

"Nobody bothered you, did they?" Maverick speaks gently into his hair. 

He slips his arms around their waist and holds them tight; clenches his eyes shut until the image of Maverick dwarfed by the malignant, writhing mass that was the Ruin in his mind fades away into ash.

"I'm fine. Just a bad mood." Silas tells them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was supposed to post this earlier, but i got caught up in minecraft.
> 
> Edit: thanks so much for the kudos!


End file.
